/^ 




IN MEMORY 



Elbert 6orton (Breene 

OF THE Class of 1820 

FUND GIVEN BY 

Samuel Cotfin Eastman 

OF THE Class of 1857 






^ 



POEMS 



Madge Morris, 'yfk 



it 



3 



What know you of my souPs inherent strife. 

By that calm faith untried which wells in thine ! 

How can you, from the knowledge of your life. 
Write out a creed for mine ? 



SAN FRANCISCO: 
THE GOLDEN ERA COMPANY. 

i88«;. 






-"i/'^ ji^y 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 



In Exchange 
Brown University 
JUL 17 1934 



Wm. M. Hinton & Oo., Printers, 536 Clay St., San Francisco. 



TD CiLLIFDRNIA, 



QiiBEii of the Sunset T 

"Hfithln the crnwn upDn tiiy' farhead glow 

The crystal jbwbIs of BtErnal sna-wj 

Ddwti at thy fBfit thB brnad Pacific cDwers, 

And SumniBr bvep binds thy breast with'flawBrs. 



PRE FACE, 



This waif is hnrn of ErriErgBiicy, and timidly 
launched on the rough sea of opinion, Critic, touch 
it gently; it assumes nothing — has nothing to assume,' 
and your scalpel can only pain its 

AUTHOR, 



CONTENTS. 



Mystery of Carmel 9 

The Crowning of Liberty 31 

Two Days 33 

Pearlie Has Gone Away 34 

Only a Tramp 35 

A Valentine 37 

Love's Lamp 3g 

A Picture 40 

To Unknown 41 

O, Speak it Not 42 

After All 42 

Wasted Hours 44 

Life's Way 45 

Garfield 46 

The Difference 48 

Enmaze 49 

Why 50 

"I Don't Care" 51 

Beware 53 

Put Flowers on My Grave 54 

Coronals 55 

The Hunter's Song 56 

A Vision from the Tower 57 

In the Foothills 59 

A Stained Lily 60 

Forever. ... 62 

Which One? 63 

Estrangement 64 

Nay, Do Not Ask , 65 

Opening the Gate for Papa 66 

Bring Flowers 68 

Hang up Your Stocking 68 

Rocking the Baby 70 

White HoneysucMe 71 



CONTENTS. 

The Flower I Love 72 

Liberty's Bell 73 

The Pale Boatman 76 

Out in the Cold 77 

Watching the Shadows 80 

I Give Thee Back Thy Heart 81 

In the Twilight .' 82 

A Thought of Heaven 85 

To Jennie 86 

Light Beyond 87 

Would You Care-? 88 

Good-bye " 89 

Consolance 90 

When the Roses Go 91 

A Regret 92 

A Shattered Idol 93 

Poor Little Joe 94 

P ate 97 

The Ghosts in the Heart 98 

Old Aunt Lucy . , , 99 

Unspoken Words , , loi 

O! Take Away Your Flowers 103 

Rain 104 

I Love Him for His Eyes 105 

Only !... 106 

Somebody's Baby's Dead 107 

The Withered Rosebud . ... 108 

My Ships Have Come from Sea. , . . 109 

Mount Whitney 112 

Lilies 113 

To E. R. W 115 

Little Bertie 117 

Wishes 118 

Forgotten Heroes 119 

Isolde to Sir Tristram 121 

" Till the Sea Gives up Its Dead " 123 

Fragments 125 

The Sign of the Cross 129 

Ephemerals 130 

Changed 131 

To Bertie i ^2 



MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 



The Mission floor was with weeds o'ergrown, 
And crumbling and shaky its walls of stone ; 
Its roof of tiles, in tiers and tiers, 
Had stood the storms of a hundred years. 
An olden, weird, medieval style 
Clung to the mouldering, gloomy pile. 
And the rythmic voice of the breaking waves 
Sang a lonesome dirge in its land of graves. 
Strangely awed, I felt, that day, 
As I walked in the Mission old and gray — 
The Mission Carmel at Monterey. 

An ancient owl went fluttering by. 
Scared from his haunt. His mournful cry 
Wakened the echoes, till roof and wall 
Caught and re-echoed the dismal call 
Again and again, till it seemed to me 
Some Jesuit soul, in mockery — 
Stripped of Rosary, gown, and cowl — 
Haunted the place, in this dreary owl. 
Surely T shivered with fright that day, 
Alone in the Mission old and gray — 
The Mission Carmel at Monterey. 



10 MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 

Near the chapel vault was a dungeon grim, 

And they say that many a chanted hymn 

Has rung a knell on the moldy air 

For luckless errant prisoned there, 

As kneeling monk and pious nun 

Sang orison at set of sun. 

A single window, dark and small, 

Showed opening in the heavy wall, 

Nor other entrance seemed attained 

That erst had human footstep gained. 

I paused before the uncanny place, 

And peered me into its darksome space. 

Had it of secret aught to tell, 

That locked-up darkness kept it well ? 

I turned, and lo ! by my side there stood 

A being of strangest naturehood. 

Startled, I glanced him o'er and o'er, 

Wondering I noted him not before. 

His form was stooped with the weight of years, 

And on his cheek was a trace of tears; 

Over all his face a shade of pain. 

That deepened and vanished, and came again. 

Fixed he his woeful eyes on me — 

Through my very soul they seemed to see. 

And lightly he laid his hand on mine — 

His hand was cold as the vestal shrine. 

'•'Tis haunted," he said, "haunted, and he 

Who dares at night-noon go with me 

To this cursed place, by phantoms trod, 



MYSTERY OF CARMEL. J 

Must fear not devil, man, nor God." 
"Tell me the story," I cried, "tell me!" 
And frightened was I at my bravery, 
A curious smile his thin lips curved, 
That well had my bravery unnerved. 
And this is the story he told that day 
To me, in the Mission old and gray — 
The Mission Carmel at Monterey. 

" Each midnight, since have seventy years 

Begun their cycle around the spheres. 

Two faces have looked from that window there ; 

One is a woman's young and fair, 

With tender eyes and floating hair. 

Love, and regret, and dumb despair, 

Are told in each tint of the fair sweet face. 

The other is crowned with a courtly grace, 

Gazing, with all a lover's pride. 

On the beautiful woman by his side. 

Anon ! a change flits o'er his mien, 

And baffled rage in his glance is seen. 

Paler they grow as the hours go by. 

With the pallor that comes with the summons to die. 

Slowly fading, and shrinking away. 

Clutched in the grasp of a gaunt decay, 

Till the herald of morn on the sky is thrown; 

Then a shriek, a curse, and a dying moan. 

Comes from that death-black window there. 

A mocking laugh rings out on the air. 



12 MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 

From that darkful place, in the nascent dawn, 

And the faces that looked from the window are gone. 

Seventy years, when the Spanish flag 

Floated above yon beetling crag, 

And this dearthful mission place was rife 

With the panoply of busy life ; 

Hard by, where yon canyon, deep and wide, 

Sweeps it adown the mountain side, 

A cavalier dwelt with his beautiful bride. 

Oft to the priestal shrive went she ; 

As often, stealthily, followed he. 

The padre Sanson absolved and blessed 

The penitent, and the sin-distressed, 

Nor ever before won devotee 

So wondrous reverence as he. 

A-nigh, when the winds played wild and high, 

And the ocean rocked it to the sky, 

An earthquake trembled the shore along. 

Hushing on lip of praise its song, 

And jarred to its center this Mission strong. 

When the mornmg broke with a summer sun, 

The earth was at rest, the storm was done. 

Still the Mission tower'd in its stately pride ; 

Still the cottage smiled by the canyon-side ; 

But never the priest was there to bless. 

And the cottage roof was tenantless. 

Vainly they sought for the padre, dead. 

For the cottage dwellers ; amazed, they said 

'Twas a miracle ; but since that day 



MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 13 

There's a ghost in the Mission old and gray — 
The Mission Carmel at Monterey. 

" A sequel there is to that tale," said he, 
" Of the way and the truth, I hold the key." 
" Show me the way," I cried ; " Show me 
To the depth of this curious mystery !" 
He waved me to follow; my heart stood still 
Under the ban of a mightier will 
Than mine. A terror of icy chill 
O'er-shivered my being, from hand to brain, 
Freezing the blood in each pulsing vein, 
As I followed this most mysterious guide 
Through the solid floor at the chancel side, 
Into a passage whose stifling breath 
Reeked with the pesdlence of death. 
Down through a subterranean vault, 
Over broken steps, with never a halt. 
Till we stood in the midst of a spacious room, 
A charnel-house in its shroud of gloom. 
Only a window, narrov^ and small, 
Left in the build of the heavy wall, 
Through which the flickering sunbeams died. 
Showed passway to the world outside. 
Slowly my eyes to the darkness grew, ' 
And I saw in the gloom, or rather knew. 
That my feet had touched two skeleton forms, 
One closely clasped in the other's arms. 
Recoiling, I shuddered and turned my face 



14 MYSTERY OF CARMEL, 

From the fleshlers mockery of embrace. 

Again o'er a heap of rubbish and rust, 

I stumbled and caught in the moth and dust 

What hardly a sense of my soul believes — 

A mold-stained package of parchment leaves ! 

A hideous bat flapped into my face ! 

O'ercome with horror, I fled the place, 

And stood again with my curious guide 

On the solid floor, at the chancel's side. 

But, lo ! in a moment the age-bowed seer 

Was a darkly frowning cavalier, 

Gazing no longer m woeful trance; 

Vengeance blazed in his every glance. 

Then a mocking laugh rang the Mission o'er, 

And I stood alone by the chapel door ; 

And, save for the mold-stained parchment leaves, 

I had thought it the vision that night-mare weaves. 

Hardly a sense of my soul believes, 

Yet I held in my hand the parchment lec(ves. 

Careful I noted them, one by one, 

Each was a letter in rhyming run. 

Written over and over, in tenderest strain, 

By fingers that never will write again. 

1 strung them together, a tale to tell, 

And named it "The Mystery of Carmel." 

And these are the letters I found that day. 

In the mission ruin, old and gray — 

The Mission Carmel of Monterey : 



MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 1 5 

TO THE HOLY FATHER SANSON. 

Oh, holy father, list thee to my prayer ! 

I may not kneel to thee as others kneel, 
And tell my heart-aches with the suppliant's air, 

But fiercer burns the fire I must conceal. 

A father ne'er my brow in loving smoothed, 
Nor taught my baby tongue to lisp his name ; 

No mother's voice my childish sorrows soothed. 
Nor sought my wild, imperious will to tame. 

Yet ran my life, like some bright, bubbling spring, 
Too full of thoughtless happiness to care 

If that the future might more gladness bring. 
Or might its skies be clouded or be fair. 

Afar upon the purple hills of Spain — 

Since waned the moons of half a year ago — 

I sported, reckless as the laughmg main. 

Nor dreamed in life a thought of grief to know. 

To-day I pine here in a chain whose gall 
Is bitterer than drop of wormwood brought 

From that salt sea where nothing lives, and all 
The recompense my willfulness has brought. 

Oh, holy father, list thee to my prayer ! 

And though I may not kneel as others kneel, 
And tell my heart-aches with a suppliant air, 

I crave thy grace a sickened soul to heal. 



1 6 MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 

Here, close beside this sacred font of gold, 
My humble prayer, oh, father, I will lay, 
With all its weight of misery untold ; 

And wait impatient that which thou wilt say. 

Reyenita. 
to reyenita. 

When to the font, this morn, my lips I pressed, 
A fairy's gift my fingers trembled o'er ; 

A sweeter prayer ne'er smile of angel blessed. 
Nor gemmed a tiar that the priesthood wore. 

The secret of thy grief I may not know. 
Since that thy lips refuse the tale to tell ; 

Methinks, dear child, it was the sound of woe 
That woke an echo in my heart's deep well. 

The wail of a spirit that a-yearning gropes 
In darkness for the sunlight that is fled ; 

A broken idol in secret wept, and hopes — 

Crushed hopes — that are to thee as are the dead. 

A tender memory ling'ring yet of when 

Each bounding pulse beat faster with its joy ; 

A something that allured, and won, and then 
With waking fled, and years may not destroy 

The impress which it left upon thy brain. 

But seek thee, child, grief's ravaging to stay; 
Thy tears might fall as falls the show'ring rain, 

They could not wash the heart's deep scars away. 



MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 1 7 



Repine thee not ; shroud not thy faith in gloom ; 

Shrink not to meet a disappointment's frown ; 
Away beyond the narrow bordered tomb, 

Who here have borne the cross may wear the crown. 

Sanson. 

to sanson. 

Whisper to him, fairies, whisper — 

Whisper softly in his ear 
That some one is waiting, waiting, 

Listening his step to hear. 

Fairies, if he knew his presence 

Would a demon's spell allay, 
Would he heed your timid whisperings ? 

Would he — will he come to-day ? 

REYENITA. 
TO REYENITA. 

Fairies whisper, ever whisper, 

In the silence of the night. 
And he hears their voiceless murmurings 

Floating in the starry light. 

And they tell him ; yes, they tell him, 

All in accents sweet and clear, 
Of the beautiful Hereafter 

That is ever drawing near. 

Of the loved ones waiting, waiting. 
For his footfall on the shore j 



l8 MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 

They will welcome his appearing — 
They will greet him o'er and o'er. 

Sanson. 
to sanson. 

Oh, would the fairies to her whisper, 
The truths which they to him impart, 

Teach her a beautiful hereafter, 
A Heaven to bless a tired heart. 

Yet thinks she that the dear ones waiting 
Would envy not the boon she craves — 

To rear fair friendship's sacred altar 

Where love and hope sleep in their graves. 

She knows not that a loving welcome 
Will wait her in a realm of light, 

Naught of a future meeting whispers, 
No faith illumes her soul's dark night. 

All she has known has to her proven 
A false, deluding, fleeting show ; 

Can she, generous spirit, can she 

Trust blindly what she does not know ? 

But if for this she shuts against her 
The heart that's shining in his eyes. 

She'll bring the gift that for the Peri 
Unbarred the gates of paradise. 

Reyenita. 



MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 1 9 

TO REYENITA. 

If she'll let him be her teacher 

In the mysteries of life, 
In the spirit's grand unfoldment 

Far beyond this world of strife. 

A sacred altar he will build her, 

And dedicate to friendship true, 
And this shall be their bond of union, 

More constant than all others knew. 

Sanson. 
to sanson. 

Kind teacher, henceforth be it mine 
To kneel at friendship's sacred shrine, 
And hope's bright budding flowers entwine 

Into a garland for thy brow. 
And thou shalt wait not for the hours 
To woo thee to elysian bowers, 

But wear it now. 

Too long a dreamer I have been, 
Too long life's dark side only seen ; 
And if thou canst, while thus I kneel, 
The mystery of life reveal, 

Then gladly will I learn of thee. 
For as on flowers the dewdrops fall, 
As sunbeams break the storm-cloud's pall, 



20 MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 

As pardon comes to lives which blame 
Has crushed beneath its weight, so came 
Thy sympathy to me. 

Reyenita. 

to reyenita. 

Life is love, and only love, 
Love that had its source above. 
It wreathes with flowers the chastening rod, 
And diamond decks the throne of God. 

Sanson. 

to sanson. 

If "life is love, and only love," 
Then never have I lived before ; 

But for love's sake I'll sit me down 
And careful con the lesson o'er, 

I fain would win the shining goalj 

So far away, so seeming fair, 
But could not reach its hights alone ; 
Then, teacher, take me, take me there. 

Reyenita. 
TO reyenita. 

Thy teacher, then, will take thee there, 
And ever watch with tender care, 

To guard thy way to loftiest aim. 

And his reward thy love shall claim. 

Sanson. 



MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 



TO SANSON. 



O, inconsistent teacher, 

He'd knowledge give away ; 

Fill head and heart, from tomes of art. 
Then take me for his pay. 

He'd kindly lead me to the realm 
Where joyous freedom reigns, 

He'd teach my soul love's sweet control, 
Then claim it for his pains. 



Reyenita. 



TO reyenita. 



Ah ! Reyenita, do not charge 

To selfishness thy teacher's plea. 
He seeks thine every wish to bless, 
His deepest fault is loving thee. 
" Heaven's kingdom," said the Nazarene, 
" Is the heart ;" sweet fairy queen, 
Thou rulest alone this realm of mine. 
Canst say I have no place in thine ? 

Sanson. 

to sanson. 

They boast of Ormuz' milk-white pearls, 

The ruby's magic art, 
And proudly wear the crystal drop 

That fires the diamond's heart. 



22 MYSTKRY OF CARMEL. 

And these may admiration claim, 
And countless wealth may sway. 

But rarer gem was given to me, 
One golden summer day. 

Were all earth's costly jewels thrown 

In one great glittering heap, 
They could not buy, for e'en a day. 

The gem I'd selfish keep. 

Yet 'twas not won from pearly depths, 
Nor gleaned from diamond mine, 

Nor all the chemist's subtlery 
Its substance could define. 

It ne'er was set in band of gold 

A dainty hand to grace, 
Nor shone in diadem to deck 

A brow of kingly race. 

For me alone, a wizard spell 

Lies prisoned in its beams. 
Hours of enchanted ecstacy 

And days of Eden dreams. 

Wouldst know the precious gift with which 

For worlds I would not part ? 

The priceless jewel is thy love, 

Its setting is my heart. 

Reyenita. 



MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 2$ 



SONG— TO REYENITA. 



When midnight moon's soft gleaming 

"Wrapped earth in splendor bright, 
Methought two dark eyes, beaming 

In tender, radiant light, 
Smiled on me in my dreaming, 

A smile of heavenly bliss. 
And loving lips, with finger-tips, 

Flung to my heart a kiss. 
Then come, love, come again in my sleep, to me, 
For I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming of thee. 

Sweet eyes my slumber breaking, 

I wondering, wondering sought ; 
But eyes, and smile, at waking, 
Had vanished like a thought. 
And life may hence bring pleasures, 

But never more the bliss, 
When loving lips, with finger-tips, 
Flung to my heart a kiss. 
Then come, love, come again in my sleep, to me. 
For I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming of thee. 

Sanson. 

to sanson. 

I've a beautiful home, where I live in my dreams, 
So joyous and happy — an Eden it seems ; 



24 MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 

All beautiful things in nature and art 

Are blending to rapture the mind and the heart ; 

No discords to jar, no dissensions arise, 

'Tis calm as Italia's ever blue skies. 

When kissed by the bright rosy blush of the morn. 

And a voice of the spheres on the breezes is borne, 

Soft as the murmur of sea-tinted shells, 

Sweet as the chiming of far away bells ; 

And grief cannot enter, nor trouble nor care, 

And the proud, peerless prince of my soul, he is there. 

In my beautiful home, in the cold world apart, 
He holds me so close to his fast beating heart ; 
More enchanting his voice than the syren-wrapt song, 
O'er the wind-dimpled ocean soft floating along. 
As he whispers his love in love's low, passioned tone, 
Such home, and such love, no other has known. 

Reyenita. 

to reyenita. 

O, let us leave this world behind — 
Its gains, its loss, its praise, its blame — 
Not seeking fame, nor fearmg shame, 
Some far secluded land we'll find 
And build thy dream-home, you and I, 
And let this foolish world go by. 
A paradise of love and bliss ! 
Delicious draughts in Eden bowers. 



MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 2$ 

Of peace, and rest, and quiet hours, 
We'll drink, for what we've missed in this. 
The shafts of malice we'll defy^ 
And let this foolish world go by. 

Sanson. 



TO SANSON. 

Life of my life, my soul's best part, 
I could not live without thee now; 
And yet this love must break my heart, 
Or break a sacred vow. 

Which shall it be ? an answer oft 
From puzzling doubts I've sought to wake, 
Must joy, or misery, hence be mine. 
Must heart or promise break ? 

Alone, Heaven's highest court would prove 
A desolated land to me ; 
Earth's barest, barren desert wild, 
A paradise with thee. 

Reyenita. 

to reyenita. 

Thou hast beamed on my pathway, a vision of light, 

To guide and to bless from afar ; 
To illume with thy smile the dead chill of the night. 

My star, my bright, beautiful star. 



26 MYSTKRY OF CARMEL. 

The sun pales before thee, the moon is a blot 
On the sky where thine own splendors are ; 
And dark is the day where thy presence is not, 
My star, my bright, beautiful star. 

Sanson, 
to sanson. 

O love, do not call me a star ! 
'Tis too cold and bright, and too far 
Away from your arms ; I would be 
The life-drops that flow in your veins, 
The pulses that throb in your heart. 
My bosom should be the warm sea 
Of forgetfulness, tinged with the stains 
Of the sunset; when day-dreams depart. 
You should drink at its fountain of kisses, 
Drink mad of its fathomless deep, 
Submerged in an ocean of blisses, 
I'd be something to kiss and to keep. 
Loving, and tender, and true, 
I'd be nearer, oh ! nearer to you 
Than the glittering meteors are; 
Then, love, do not call me a star. 

Reyenita. 

to reyenita. 

Thou 'st made for me an atmosphere of life ; 

The very air is brighter from thme eyes, 
They are so soft and beautiful, and rife 

With all we can imagine of the skies. 



MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 27 

O woman, where is thy resistless power ; 

I swore the livery of Heaven to grace, 
Yet stand, to-day, a sacrilegious tower, 

Perjured by the witchery in thy face. 

Sanson. 

to sanson. 

Then, love, I'll give thee back thy perjured vow ; 

I would not hold thee with one pleading breath ; 
It may be best to leave the pathway now 

That can but lead to death. 

I shall not look in your dear eyes again, 
Nor feel again the pressure of your hand ; 

Divided by a moaning gulf of pain, 
Apart, forevermore, we stand. 

God gave you here a mission that's divine; 

'Tis your heaven's truth to spread ; 
Your life is beautiful, and blest — and mine? 

Alas ! the sea cannot give up its dead. 

Why prizes most, the heart, a joy it misses ? * 

And why did God make mouths that kill with kisses? 
I'll crush the agonies that burning swell. 
And say farewell. 

Reyenita. 



28 MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 

TO REYENITA. 

" Farewell ?" No, not farewell ; I'll worship ever 

Thy form divine. 
No death's despair, no voice of doom shall sever 

My heart fiom thme. 

Thou'st crowned me with thy love and bade me wear it, 

I kiss the shrine. 
I will not give thee up; nay, here I swear it, 

That thou art mine. 



A desecrated holiness is o'er me, 

I've held the Thr}sus cup; 

I've dared the thunderbolts of Heaven for thee, 

I will not give thee up. 

Sanson. 

World, farewell ! 

And thou pale taper light, by whose fast-dying flame 
I write these words — the last my hand shall pen — 
farewell ! What is 't to die ? To be shut in a dun- 
geon's walls and starved to death ? She knows, and 
soon will I. She sought to learn of me, and I to 
teach to her, the mystery of lire. Ha! ha! Who 
claimed her by the church's law has given us both to 
learn the mystery of death. What v/as 't I loved? 
The eyes that thrilled me through and through with 
their magnetic subtlery ? They're there, set on my 
face; but where 's their lifened light? What wast't I 



MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 29 

loved ? The mouth whose coral redness I have buried 
in my own ? 'Tis there, shrunk 'gainst two rows of 
dead pale pearls, and cold and colorless as lip of statue 
carved in marble. Was it the form whose perfect 
outline stamped it with divinity ? It 's there, but 'reft 
of all its winsome roundness, and stiffening in the 
chill of death. It makes me cold to look upon its 
rigidness. But just this hour the breath went out ; 
was 't that I loved ? 'Twas this I clasped and kissed. 
What is it that we've christened love, that glamours 
men to madness, and stains with falsehood virgin pur- 
ity ? It made this gruesome charnel vault a part of 
Heaven — it made him spring the bolt and lock us in. 
Where is the creed's foundation? I've shrived a 
thousand souls — I cannot now absolve my own. To 
quench this awful thirst, I cut an artery in my arm 
and sucked its blood. The ihirstiness did not cease. 
They lied. 'Twas not the vultures at Prometheus' 
heart, 'twas hunger at his vitals gnawed. The salt 
drops that I swallowed from that vein have set my 
brain on fire. What's that? The ground 's a-tremble 
'neath my feet as touched with life. Earth, rend your 
breast and let me in! For anything but this dire 
darkness, made alive with vengeful eye-balls — his 
eyes ! They glare with hate at me. I heard him 
laugh but now. For anything but this most loving 
corpse whose head caressmg rests it on my feet. Ah, 
no, I did not mean it thus ; I would not get away 
alone. I loved that corpse. It was the sweetest bit 



30 MYSTERY OF CARMEL. 

of human frailty that to man e'er brought a blessing 
or a curse. I turned from Dias' holy grail to taste its 
nectar. Hell, throw 'a-wide your sulphur-blazoned 
gates, I'll grasp it in my arms and make the plunge ! 
Hist ! what was that ? I heard him laugh again. 
Laugh, fiend, you cannot hurt me more. Ah ! Rey- 
enita, mine in - life you were, in death you shall be 
mine. When this clogged blood has stopped the 
wheels of Hfe, I'll put my arms around your neck, I'll 
lay my face against your frozen one, and thus I'll die. 
When this foul place has crumbled to the sunlight, 
som.e relic -hunting lunatic will stumble o'er our bones, 
and pitiless will weave a tale for eyes more pitiless to 
read. Death 's on me now. I feel his rattle in my 
throat ! My limbs are blocks of ice ! My heart has 
tuned it with the muffled dead-march drum ? A jar 
of crushing worlds in my ears ! A drowsy faintness 
creeps upon 

The seal is broken, the mystery fell ; 
You have read the letters, what do they tell ? 
Do they tell you the story they told that day 
To me, in the Mission old and gray — 

The Mission Carmel at Monterey ? 



THE CROWNING OF LIBERTY. 3I 



THE CEOWNING OF LIBEETT. 

She came on that immortal morn, 

A hundred years and more ago — 
Fair Liberty bowed 'neath the scorn 

That wrought a suffering people's woe. 

Upon her round, white arms she wore 
The shackles forged by tyrant art ; 

Her shining robe was stained with gore — 
The life-blood of a loyal heart. 

She spoke, and in her pleading tones 

A voice came ringing o'er the sea 
From fallen Roma's crumbling thrones. 

From graves of old Thermopylae. 

The listening breezes heard her plea, 

They told it to the summer morn, 
'Twas whispered by each forest tree, 

Each green blade of the rustling corn. 

'Twas murmured by the brooklet's waves, 
The echoing mountains caught the cry 

And flung it back to ocean's caves — 
The ocean rolled it to the sky. 

Our patriot sires — that grand old band — 
Had met in troubled council throng, 

If that they might, to quench the brand. 

Where smouldering burned a Nation's wrong. 



32 THE CROWNING OF LIBERTY. 

They heard fair Liberty's appeal, 

They gazed upon her matchless form ; 

Each faltering nerve grew firm as steel, 
Each breast was bared, to meet the storm, 

A. moment low those stern heads bowed 
In sokmn, silent awe of prayer, 

And then a wild shout, long and loud, 
Burst out upon the quivering air. 

The spirit, roused, would sleep no more, 
And each in turn, on bended knee, 

With brow uncovered, reverent swore 
Eternal faith to Liberty ! 

Her torn and bleeding feet they dressed 
In sandals wrought of maiden gold. 

Into her trembling hand they pressed 
The scepter from a Monarch's hold. 

They broke the fetters that had led 
Her captive in their cruel scars. 

And bound upon her regal head 
A flashing coronet of stars. 

Their fortunes, lives, their all, alone. 
They fastened with her mantle's sheen ; 

Gave her their proud hearts for a throne, 
And Liberty was crowned our Queen. 



TWO DAYS. 33 

The deed a world then laughed to mock 

Has swept m Majesty of State, 
From Massachusetts' Plymouth Rock 

To California's Golden Gate — 

Her heritage from sea to sea, 

A land that own's no craven's right. 

Where but to breathe is to be free, 
And this * the symbol of her might. 



TWO DAYS. 

But yesterday the world was bright and fair — 

Too bright and fair to last of life a part. 
I pinned a spray of lilacs in my hair, 
Another o'er my heart. 

You praised the snowy blossoms that I wore, 

You took one from my tangled, wind-blown hair 
Such sweet content I had not known before — 
The world was fair — too fair. 

The foam-tipped ocean waves broke at our feet, 
And, shivering, died upon the long, low shore. 
Their voices said, in tender tones and sweet : 
" Glad heart ! Oh, grieve no more!" 



^Flag. 



34 PEARLIE HAS GONE AWAY. 

To-day I wear white lilacs in my hair ; 

I've pinned a snowy cluster on my breast ; 
But miss your voice, and 'neath the flowers fair 
There burns a strange unrest. 

To-day again the sky is bright and fair, 

The same waves break and die upon the shore ; 
But, oh ! the burden of the song they bear : 
"Poor heart! be glad no more!" 



PEABLIE HAS GONE AWAY. 

How still and lonesome the house is, 

The sunshine looks paler to-day, 
And the wind round .the corners is whispering: 
"Pearlie has gone away." 

No papers, cut with the scissors, 

Scattered over the floor ; 
No scampering feet on the stairway. 

No finger-marks on the door. 
The flies on the window are tamer. 

There's no one to catch them to-day 
And fasten them up in a bottle — 
Pearlie has gone away. 



ONLY A TRAMP. 35 

There in the farthest corner 

Is her "sailor-hat" on the floor, 
Where she tossed it yesterday evening 

As she bounded in at the door. 
Somehow I couldn't take it 

And put it away to-day, 
And a plate of mud cakes in the cupboard, 
I couldn't throw them away. 

"Is she dead?" did you ask me? no, no! 

My heart had a deeper pain 
If never to still its throbbing 

I'd clasp my darling again. 
But the house is so still and so lonesome. 

And the sun shines so coldly to-day, 
And the wind round the corners keeps whispering: 
" Pearhe has gone away." 



ONLY A TEAMP. 

Only a tramp by the roadside dead ; 

Only a tramp — who cares ? 
His feet are bare, his dull eyes stare. 

And the wind plays freaks with his unkempt hair. 



36 ONLY A TRAMP. 

The sun rose up and the sun went down, 
But nobody missed him from the town, 

Where he begged for bread 'till the day was dead. 
He's only a tramp — who cares ? 

Only a tramp, a nuisance gone. 

One more tramp less — who cares ? 

Ghastly'and gray, in the lane all day, 
A soiled, dead heap of human clay. 

Would the wasted crumbs in the rich man's hall, 
Where the gas-lights gleam and the curtains fall, 

Have given him a longer lease of breath — 
Have saved the wretch from starving to death — 

He's only a tramp — who cares ? 

Only a trarnp ! was he ever more 

Than a beggar tramp ? Who cares ? 
Was the hard-hned face ever dimpled and sweet ? 

Has a mother kissed those rough brown feet, 
And thought their tramping a sweeter strain 

Than ever will waken her ear again ? 
Does somebody kneel, 'way over the sea. 

Praying, " Father, bring back my boy to me ?" 
Does somebody watch and weep and pray 

For the tramp who lies dead in the lane to-day? 
He's only a tramp — who cares ? 



A VALENTINE. 37 



A VALENTINE] 

I love thee for the soul that shines 
Within thine eyes' soft beaming, 

From out whose depths the prisoned fires 
Of intellect are gleaming. 

I love thee for the mmd that soars 
Eeyond earth's narrow keeping, 

That measures suns, and stars, and worlds, 
Through boundless limits sweepmg. 

I love thee for the voice whose power 

Can in my heart awaken 
To passioned life each slumbering chord 

That ruder tones have shaken. 

Thou ne'er, perchmce, mayst feel the chain 
With which this love has bound thee, 

Nor dream thee of the hand that flung 
Its glittering links around thee. 

And vainly mayst thou deem the task 

Thy captive bonds to sever — 
Who madly dares to love thee now 

Will love thee on forever. 



38 love's lamp. 



LOVE'S LAMP. 

Afar, and long ago, in Egypt's land 

A palace stood — ' 
The palace of a king — wrought out by hand 

In precious wood 
Of curious carving, and in marble white 
It gleamed and glistened in the sun's red light, 
Close where the Nilus crept 'mid leaf and vine. 
The palace of the Ptol'my's fateful line. 

Within the center of the spacious hall, 

Where sat the king 
In royal state, admiring gaze of all 

The lordly ring, 
A single marble shaft stood white and lone 
A'near the gorgeous trappings of the throne : 
A thing so perfect, beautiful and chaste 
In monarch's presence erst had not been placed. 

Upon the shaft, a hand that ne'er had sinned, " 

Placed for support 
A lamp brought from the distant shores of Ind 

To grace his court. 
The king smiled on the quaint, strange gift, and told 
His followers to light it ; but the old, 
The young, the ill-faced and the fair, in vain 
Their skill applied — no light repaid their pain. 



love's lamp. 39 

At length, one day, when years and years had passed, 

The weary king, 
Yielding to persuasion, said at last, 

" Destroy the thing." 
When from the crowd a maiden, fair and sweet, 
Came forth, and flung her at the monarch's feet. 
And begged, in pitying tone, that he would spare 
The beauteous lamp that hung so useless there. 



"If thou canst light it," said the king, " I will 

Grant thy request." 
The maiden timidly approached it, still 

And tremblmg pressed 
She closely to the object of her love. 
And gently breathed upon it. Quick above 
Her downcast head a matchless brilliance came — 
The sacred fire had leaped into a flame. 



Amazed, each wondering courtier bowed his head 

As to a shrine. 
Then spoke the king, and to the maiden said, 

" The lamp is thine ! 
Go, take it to thy home, and guard it well; 
But thou alone couldst find its hidden spell ; 
But for thy breath its magic brightness lives — 
Love's silent tribute unto love it gives." 



40 A PICTURE. 

The human heart's a buried lamp like this. 

To light it, vain 
Each softly wooing voice, each tender kiss — 

No touch remains ; 
All passionless it Hes beyond their ken, 
Until the right soul breathes upon it ; then 
The slumbering fire bursts its prison thrall. 
And joyous to the conqueror yields it all. 



A PICTUEE. 

A little maid, with sweet brown eyes, 
Upraised to mine in sad surprise ; 
I held two tiny hands in mine, 

I kissed the little maid farewell. 
Her cheeks to deeper crimson flushed, 

The sweet, shy glances downward fell ; 
From rosy lips came — ah ! so low — 
*' I love you — do not go !" 

I see it through the lapse of years — 
This picture^ oftimes blurred with tears. 
No tiny hands in mine are held, 

No sweet brown eyes my pulses wake — 
Only in memory a voice 

E'er bids me stay for love's sweet sake. 



TO UNKNOWN. 41 



TO UNKNOWN. 



Sweet minstrel, came thy tender lay 

Into the desert of my heart, 
As dew-drops fall on flowers of May 
When burning Summer suns depart. 
But oh, thou bidst me sing a strain 
That ne'er ray voice may wake again. 

Sweet minstrel, were it mine the power 

To strike for thee this golden lyre. 
Like hence had not a lonely hour 

Thy generous heart to bind and tire. 
I'd sweet its quivering strings until 

The prisoned soul of melody 
Beneath my hand's warm touch should thrill 

And sing it low and tenderly ; 

Aye, till the cadence of my lute 
Were unto thee the lotus fruit. 

But ah, for me its chords are all 

Untuned, unstrung ; it could not bless 
Thy life e'en with one joyous call 
To woo thee from thy loneliness. 
The saddest strain it ever knew 
It sings for thee — adieu, adieu. 



42 O, SPEAK IT NOT. 



O, SPEAK IT NOT. 

O, speak not hastily the word 

Thine ear from idle tongues has heard. 
If false the tale thou couldst recall, 

How hard and cruel must it fall ? 
If true, why, helping it along 

Will never, never right the wrong. 
O, speak it not, nor speak the word 

That wounds, though but in jest 'tis heard 
Keep back the thrust, the look askance. 

The petty doubt, the sneering glance ; 
Keep back the taunts and jeers, 

Life has enough of breaking hearts, 
Of pointed barbs and venomed darts — 

Enough of pain and tears. 



AFTEK ALL. 

So I — capricious-minded. 

Whose fancy a whim could thrall — 
Whom you taught love's truth of loving 

Was truest after all ! 



AFTER ALL. 43 

Watching to-night the sunset, 

I saw the sun go down 
In a sea of crimson splendor — 

In its own red sea — to drown ; 
Like the sun in the sunset glory, 

The sun of my hopes went down. 

Over a couch I'm bending 

With eyes that are wet with pain, 
Where, wrapped in its shroud of memory, 

My beautiful love lies slain. 
Slain by a random arrow. 

Shot from a bow unstrung ; 
Dead, with its depths unsounded. 

The wealth of its song unsung. 

The stars will shine in the winter. 

And the spring-tide come and go. 
The summers will burn and revel, 

And the autumn winds will blow. 

But the gleam of the stars is vanished 

Out of their silver mist, 
The sparkle gone from the dew-drops 

That the purple violets kissed'; 

The joy from the throbbmg pulses 

In the heart of the summer warm, 
The tint from the autumn's colors, 

The grandeur out of the storm. 



44 WASTED HOURS. 

Ever and ever, to-morrow, 

The sun will arise again 
From its yellow and opal ocean— 

From its crimson sea of pain ; 
But the sun that went down in its sorrow 

Will rise from it never again. 

So I — capricious- minded, 

Whose fancy a whim could thrall — 
Whom you taught love's truth of loving, 

Was the truest, after all ! 



WASTED HOUES. 

If that thy hand with heart-will sought. 
To work with Christ -love underlying, 
But ere thou hadst accomplished aught 
Time passed thee by while vainly trying, 
The wasted hour, the vain endeavor, 
Will wait thee in the far forever. 

If thou hast toiled from dawn till eve, 

But felt no thrill of joy in giving. 
No heart made glad, no want relieved. 
Lived but for selfish love of living. 
Though idle hours went by thee never, 
The hours are lost to thee forever. 



LIFE S WAY. 45 



LIFE'S WAY. 

Good-bye, sweetheart, he said, and clasped her hand 
And rained his kisses on her tear- wet face ; 

Then broke away, and in a foreign land. 

For her dear sake, sought gold, that he might place 

Love's jewelled crown upon his queen's fair brow, 
And pour his hard-won treasures at her feet ; 

And swore, than Heaven, than life itself, his vow 
To her he held more sacred and more sweet. 

She waited as the woman only may 

Whose eyes are blinded oft with unshed tears ; 
Lines on her forehead grew, and threads of gray ; 

The weary days crept into weary years. 

'* Oh star, go down ! Oh sun, be shrouded now ! 

My love comes not ; he does not live," she said ! 
And brushed the curls he'd kissed back from her brow, 

And put on mourning for her dead. 

And still as oft the day came round that he 
Had left his warm good-bye upon her lips, 

As oft she sought the headland by the sea. 

And longing watched the far-off white-sailed ships. 



46 GARFIELD. 

To-day, the low sand-beach was over-strewn ; 

Torn sail, and broken spar and human form, 
'Gulfed by the waves, and crushed, and then out -thrown: 

A ship went down in yester-night's wild storm. 

She walked among the debris, and the dead, 
As some sweet mercy-sister on her round. 

Scanning each up-turned face with nameless dread. 
For aught of life ; her tireless searching found 

A babe — a waif with tawny tangled locks, 
;'^'And great blue eyes with wonder brimming o'er ; 
Of all the human freight wrecked on the rocks, 
The only living thing that washed ashore. 

A pearl-gemmed golden case upon its breast 
She oped, then stared, her eyes a-sudden wild, 

A name, a pictured face told all the rest ; 
His name — his face — his child ! 



GAEFIELD. 

Toll the bells high in the steeple, 
Slowly toll a mournful lay. 

Eing a knell for all the people, 
A nation is bereft to-day. 



GARFIELD. 47 

Lower the starry flag above us, 

Drape its floating folds in grief, 
Bid the eyes of those who love us, 

Weep with us our fallen chief. 

Close the door of trade, and hush the 
Song of praise, and bow the head ; 

Help to bear the woes that crush the 
Hearts that weep our martyred dead. 

Fallen at his post of duty, 

Slain, a vile assassin's prey ; 
Tower of strength and moral beauty — 

Dead at Elberon to-day. 

Landward, through the valleys stealing, 

Thrills a sigh that veils the sun ; 
Outward, o'er the ocean pealing, 

Booms the dirgeful minute-gun. 

Nor party, creed, nor rank, that gives him 

Meed of grief above his clay, 
Nor fame of conquest that outlives him — 

The nation mourns the man to-day. 

Ye whose lips are skilled in arts that 

Know the soul's diviner way, 
Kneel in praying for the hearts that 

Break at Elberon to-day. 



48 THE DIFFERENCE. 

Ye who welcomed him with pleasure, 

With shout and song in Autumn's gloam — 

With arms reversed, and muffled measure, 
Bear your murdered chieftain home. 



THE DIFFEEENCE. 

With odds all against him, struggling to gain 
From fortune a name, with life to maintain, 
Toiling in sunshine, toiling in rain, 
Never waiting a blessing Heaven-sent, 
Working and winning his way as he went — • 
Whether he starved, or sumptuously fared. 
Nobody knew and nobody cared. 

With success-crowned effort that fate had defied, 
That wrought out from fortune what favor denied, 
Standing aloof from the world in his pride ; 
The niche he has carved on fame's slippery wall 
Friends are proclaiming with heraldry-call. 
His Croesus-bright scepter has magical sway, 
Yester's indifference solicits to-day. 
His daring, his triumph, how daily he fares, 
Every one knows, and anxiously cares. 



ENMAZE. 49 

ENMAZE. 

A fisherman rocked in his boat on the tide 
And dropped his net in the sea, 

And he sang as he worked, and the rising tide 

Drifted his voice to the water-side — 
Echoed his voice on the lea. 

A maiden mended the fisherman's nets 

At the water-side on the lea, 
And she listened and longed as she patient wrought, 
And no sound was so sweet, the maiden thought, 

As the fisherman's song on the sea. 

A maiden stood in the mist-moonlight 

Gazing out o'er the water wide, 
Straining her eyes through the paling light. 
And around her feet in the deepening night 
Crept slowly the rising tide. 

The mermaids braided the maiden's hair 
Under the depths of the sea — 

Braided her long, bright golden hair 

Into a shimmering wonderful snare 
Under the fathomless sea. 

The fisherman smiled as he sang his song, 
For a maid too fond and fair — 
A mermaid floated the waves along 
And prisoned the soul of the fisherman's song 
In a net of golden hair. 



50 WHY? 

And ever and e'er when the twilight falls, 

And the moonlight pales on the sea, 
A voice on the ear of the fisherman falls, 
A song that his soul and his sense enthralls 
Drifts over the lonesome sea. 

And deaf to the warn that a death will snare, 
He follows the song on the sea ; 

But he conies not back for a shimmering snare. 

A wonderful weft of golden hair 

Is waiting hmi under the sea. 



WHY? 

Why is it we grasp at the shadow 
That flits from us swift as thought, 

While the real that maketh the shadow 
Stands in our way unsought ? 

And why do we wonder, and wonder, 
What's beyond the hill-tops of thought ? 

Why is it the things that we sigh for 
Are the things that we never can reach ? 

Why, only the sternest experience 
A lesson of patience can teach ? 

And why hold we so careless and lightly 
The treasures that are in our reach ? 



" I don't care. 51 

Why is it we wait for the future, 

Or dwell on the scenes of the past, 
Rather than live in the present 

Hastening from us so fast ? 
Why is it the prizes we toil for, 

So tempting in fancy's mould cast, 
Prove, when to our lips we have pressed them, 

Only apples of Sodom at last ? 
And why are the crowns, and the crosses, 

So wondrous inequally classed ? 

Ask it, ye, over and over, 

Let the winds waft your question on high. 
Till memory wanes with the ages, 

Till the stars in eternity die. 
And out from the bloom and the sunshine, 

From the rainbow o'er-arching the sky, 
From the night and the gloom and the tempest, 

Echo will answer you, " Why?" 



"I DON'T CAEE." 

** I don't care," we hear it oft 

And oft, the words are seeming fair ; 

But many a heartache lies beneath 
A careless " I don't care !" 



52 " I don't care." 

In every age, from every tongue, - 

The vain assertions fell ; 
But oh, trust not the cheating words. 

For never the truth they tell ! 
Hearts may grow sick with hope deferred, 

Be crushed with black despair. 
But lips, too proud to own defeat, 

Will whisper, " I don't care !" 

A thoughtless friend flings out in jest — 

As jesters always do — 
A deadly shaft you wince beneath. 

You know the story's true ; 
But while the dart has pierced your heart. 

And poisoned, rankles there. 
You look amused, and answer with 

A smiling, " I don't care !" 

When Fortune's favors are withdrawn. 

And friends like shadows fled, 
When all your fondest dreams are gone, 

Your dearest hopes are dead, 
You curse the fickle goddess, then, 

Who wrought you such despair. 
Yet hide chagrin beneath a frown. 

And mutter, "I don't care !" 

The veteran, battle-scarred, who fills 

A nation's honored place. 
Feels keener than his saber's point, 

Unmerited disgrace. 



BEWARE. 53 

With indignation all aflame 

He meets some rival's stare ; 
But for all answer gives the world 

A freezing, " I don't care!" 

A woman's heart is trifled with, 

Her hopes are ground to dust, 
Her proud soul humbled with neglect, 

Betrayed her sacred trust, 
Yet, while to desperation stung, 

With death and ruin there, 
She'll crush the tears and cheat you with 

A laughing, " I don't care !" 

" I don't care !" 'tis but a breath, 

The words are seeming fair. 
But many a heartache lies beneath 

A careless " I don't care !" 



BEWARE. 

Beautiful maiden. 

So daintily fair. 
Thy rosy-hued lips. 

Thy soft, flowing hair, 



54 PUT FLOWERS ON MY GRAVE. 

Symmetric perfection, 
Sweet, winning face, 

The charms that thou wearest 
A palace might grace ; 

And yet thy bright beauty 
May wreck and despair. 

Beautiful maiden, 

- Beware ! oh, beware ! 

There are flattering tongues 

That 'twere death to believe, 
And lovers who woo 

But to win and deceive ; 
For innnocent feet 

There is many a snare. 
Beautiful maiden. 

Beware ! oh, beware ! 



PUT FLOWEES ON MY GRAVE. 

When dead, no imposing funeral rite, 

Nor hne of praise I crave ; 
But drop your tears upon my face — 

Put flowers on my grave. 

Close not in narrow wall the place 

In which my heart finds rest. 
Nor mark with tow'ring monument 

The sod above my breast. 



CORONALS. 



55 



Nor carve on gleaming, marble slab 
A burning thought or deed. 

Or word of love, or praise, or blame, 
For stranger eyes to read. 

But deep, deep in your heart of hearts, 

A tender mem'ry save ; 
Upon my dead face drop your tears — 

Put flowers on my grave. 



COEONALS. 

I twined you a wreath of the ivy vine, 

You plucked me a red rose wet with dew — 

You hold in your hand, and I hold in mine 
Red rose ashes and bitter rue. 

Fortune's wheel turned round and round, 
And you went up and I went down. 

The chaplet of bay that your brow entwined 
You proudly wore ; — but I knew, I knew 

That you held in your hand, as I held in mine, 
Red rose ashes and bitter rue. 

You brought me a gift from the avalon shores, 
I gave you the heart of a lily-blow ; — 

I hold in my hand, and you hold in yours, 
A cypress wreath and ashes of snow. 



56 THE hunter's song. 

Fortune's wheel turned round and round, 
And I went up, and you went down. 

Of the sentient draught that flattery pours 

I have drained my meed — but you know, you 
know, 

That I hold in my hand, as you hold in yours, 
A cypress wreath and ashes of snow. 



THE HUNTEE'S SONG. 

Let them sing, they who will, of the pleasures that cloy 
In the heart tliat receives and the heart of the giver; 
But give me the wild and untrameling joy 

That thrills through my veins by the mountain and 
river. 

Then oh, for the hills, 
For the sun-tinted rills. 
For the days that grow wearisome never ; 
The blue sky is o'er me. 
The world is before me, 
And my heart it is smging forever. 

No sighing at beauty' s proud foot-stool for me, 

No bacchanal's night of carousing ; 
But the hights of the mountains, the moon-silvered lea 

And the haunt where the red deer is browsing. 



A VISION FROM THE TOWER. 57 

Then oh, for the hills, 

For the sun-tinted rills. 
For the days that grow wearisome never ; 

The blue sky is o'er me, 

The world is before me, 
And my heart it is singing forever. 



A yiSION FEOM THE TOWER. 

I stood on the top of the tower one day — 

The electric tower in San Jose — 
And never again, till the day I die, 

Will a vision so beautiful bless my eye 
As that which below and around me lay 
From the top of the tower in San Jose. 

One lone little cloud slow floated above, 

A dot in the reamless azure deep, 
As white as the soul of a baby's love, 

As still as the stars when the night winds sleep. 
I thought 'twas the mist of an angel's breath. 
Frozen, and floating away to death. 
Far down below me, around, away, 
A curious picture the city lay. 
It seemed that whim of a geni's hand 
Had waved above it divining wand. 



58 A VISION FROM THE TOWER. 

And wafted there, from some mythic place, 
A people of liliputian race. 
And curve of nature, and line of art, 
And light, and shadow, and human mart, 
Were strangely blended, below, that day, 
As I stood on the tower in San Jose. 

From the shadowy side of Almaden 

Hazily rolled the valley away — 
Away to the east, and the west, and then 

Lost in the misty blue of the bay. 
From a myriad fires up-wreathed the smoke 
Into weird, fantastic forms, and broke. 
And hung like a city the landscape o'er — 
The phantom city of a legend lore, 
And mountain and plain-land, forest and stream, 
Flushed bright m the gold of the sunset's gleam, 
Bare sloping hill, and vale low and sweet. 

Blushed bright in the glow of the sun's warm kiss, 
The land that never the prophet's feet 

Might tread, meseems, was a land like this 
Marvelous gem the master of skills 
Set in the amethyst crown of the hills. 
Words are all too weak to portray 
The vision I saw from the tower that day. 

I have stood on a mountain crag and seen 
A world of grandeur beneath me spread, 

The valleys that slept in their peaceful green. 
And the hills that echoed an army's tread. 



IN THE FOOTHILLS. 59 

I have heard on the shore the thunderous shocks, 
When the storm-dashed waves burst on the rocks ; 
And my soul has trembled in silent prayer 
To the God who holds the waters there, 
But never again, till the day I die, 
Will a vision so beautiful bless my eye 
As that which below, and around me lay, 
From the top of the tower in San Jose. 



IN THE FOOTHILLS. 

The pine trees nod to the oaks below. 
The wild oats bow to the cliffs of snow ; 
Noonday's shimmering, gauzy glow 
On all the hills is lying — 
And the manzanita berries grow 
Red in its gorgeous dyeing. 
The wood-dove answers the plaintive call 
From the nest that is hid in the chemesal, 
And the wanton humming bird" devours 
His feast from the mouths of the milk- weed flowers. 
Threads of cobweb, glistening gray, 
Spun on the wheel of the summer day. 
Glimmering go — and glimmering stay — ■ 
A place to dream one's life away. 



6o A STAINED LILY. 



A STAINED LILY. 

Some lilies grew by a brook-side, 

Tall and white, and cold, 
And lifted up to the sunshine 

Their great red hearts of gold. 

And near to their bed grew mosses, 
Rank vines, and flowers small, 

And loathsome weeds, and thistles, 
And the sunlight warmed them all. 

Anon, the proud white lilies 
Were gathered, one by one. 

Each to crown a festal. 
The rarest under the sun. 

One lily stooped to the brooklet, 
Her face she knew was fair. 

And the face of the flowing water 
Mirrored her image there. 

A hand, upraised in envy. 

Or carelessness, or jest. 
Flung, from the turbid water, 

Mud, on the lily breast. 



A STAINED LILY. 6 1 

And all the proud, white lilies 

Turned their faces away, 
And nobody plucked that lily, 

And day, and night, and day 

She wept for her ruined beauty : 
And the dew-drops, and the rain, 

Touched with her tears, in pity 
Fell on the muddy stain. 

Still stood she in her grieving. 

Day, and night, and day ; 
Nor tears, nor dew, nor rain-drops 

Could fade the stain away. 

Pining in desolation, 

Shunned by each of her kind. 
Sought she a bitter solace 

In creatures of coarser mind. 

But the breath of the nettle stung her, 

And the thistle's rude embrace 
Burned her sensitive nature. 

And scarred the fair, stained face. 

Lower drooped the lily, 

And died at the feet of the weeds ; 
And only the tender mosses 

Ministered to her needs. 



62 FOREVER. 

And still the tall white lilies 
Stand as cold, and proud, 

And still the weeds and thistles 
Against the lilies crowd. 

Alike the same warm sunbeams; 

On the weed and flower fall, 
Alike by the same soil nourished, 

And the great God made them all. 



FOEEYER. 

There are trees that bend in the weight of a storm, 
Then rise again to the bright blue sky ; 

And under the weight of the crushing storm 
There are trees that break, and fall, and die. 

Our human hearts are alike to these ; 

One heart, when the tempests sweep life's plain, 
Will moan with the cry of the moaning seas, 

Then smile in the sun, and forget its pain. 

And for one, when a face that was all in all. 

Is hid from its sight in the grave's deep gloom, 

No more will the joyous sunshine fall, 
Never again will the roses bloom. 



WHICH ONE. 63 



WHICH ONE. 

Each was as fair as the other, 
And both as my life were dear ; ■ 

And the voices that Hsped me mother, 
Heaven's music in my ear. 

One faded from life — and mother, 
And died in the summer dawn ; 

And I turned away from the other 
And wept for the child that was gone. 

Then I lay in a weird sleep-vision, 
Before me an earth-dark scene. 

And the land of the sweet Elysian, 
And only a grave between. 

One child soft called me mother 

Out Irom the shining door, 
And smiled and beckoned ; the other 

Unconscious played on the floor. 

One's path, to my inward seeing. 
Was light with a wondrous day, 

And led to the hights of being, 
And an angel showed the way. 

The other lay where Marah's 

Hot sands with snares are strewn — 

Through many a darksome forest, 
And the way was roughly hewn. 



64 ESTRANGEMENT. 

A faith to my soul was given — 
The weird sleep-vision o'er — 

And I turned from the child in heaven 
To the child that played on the floor. 



ESTKANGEMENT. 

Only a " something light as air," 

Which never words could tell, 
Yet feel you that between your lives 

A cloud has strangely fell ; 
Though never a change in look or tone, 

A change your heart is grieving ; 
You sentient feel the friend you love 

Has deemed you are deceiving. 

A promise rashly given may bind 

Your lips the truth to screen, 
The nameless something gathers fast 

As mist the hills between ; 
You wrap you in your cloak of pride, 

The words are never spoken 
That might have thrown the portal wide, 

And friendship's tie is broken. 



NAY, DO NOT ASK. 65 



NAY, DO NOT ASK. 

Nay, do not ask me, Sweet, if I have loved before, 

Or if, mayhap, in other years to be, 
A younger, fairer face than thine I know, 

I'll love her more than thee. 

What should it matter if I've loved before. 
So that I love thee now, and love thee best ? 

What matters it that I should love agam 

If, first, the daisy-buds blow o'er thy breast ? 

Love has the waywardness of strange caprice, 
One can not chain it to a recreant heart, 

Nor, when around the soul its tendrils twine, 
Can will the clinging, silken bonds to part. 

It is enough, I hold thee prisoned in my arms, 
And drink the dewy fragrance of thy breath ; 

And earth, and heaven, and hades are forgot, 
And love holds carnival, and laughs at death. 

Then do not ask me, Sweet, if I have loved before, 
Or if some day my heart might turn from thee ; 

In this brief hour, thou hast my soul of love. 
And thou art Is, and Was and May be — all to me. 



66 OPENING THE GATE FOR PAPA. 



OPENING THE GATE FOE PAPA. 

Hurrying out ro the gateway 

Go two little pattering feet ; 
Eagerly out through the palings 

Peer two little eyes, bright and sweet. 

A footstep as eager is answering 
The sweet eyes that patiently wait, 

And papa is kissing and blessing 
The baby that opens the gate. 

And every day all the long Summer, 
At noontime and evening late, 

The little one's watching for papa — 
Waiting to open the gate. 

And now the bright Summer is ended, 
And Autumn's gay mantle unrolled ; 

The maple leaves wooing the breezes 
Are gorgeous in crimson and gold. 

At noonday the face at the gateway 
Is flushed with a feverish glow, 

At night the bright head on the pillow 
Is tossing in pain to and fro. 



OPENING THE GATE FOR PAPA. 67 

The father kneels down in his anguish, 
And stifles the sobs with a groan ; 

He knows that his idol is going — 
Going out in the midnight alone. 

He buries his face in the pillow, 

Close, close to the fast failing breath ; 

A little arm clasps his neck closely, 
A voice growing husky in death 

Says pleadingly, half in a whisper .- 
" Please, darling papa, don't cry ; 

I know Birdie 's going to Heaven — 
I heard doctor say he will die. 

** But I'll ask God for one of the windows 
The pretty star-eyes look out through. 
And when you come up with the angels 
I'll sure be the first to see you. 

** And maybe I'll find my dear mamma: 
And you '11 come up, too, by-and-by, 
And Birdie will watch for you, papa, 
And open the gate of the sky." 

The little hand falls from his shoulder 
All nerveless, the blue eyes dilate, 

A shuddering sigh, then the baby 
Is waiting to open the Gate. 



68 BRING FLOWERS. 



BEING FLOWERS. 

Bring flowers, bring flowers, thou Queen of the Spring, 
Sweet flowers to garland the earth, 

Exotics to bloom in the mansions of wealth, 
Wild flowers for the lowly hearth. 
Bring flowers for the brave and strong-hearted, 
Bring flowers for the merry and glad, 
Bring flowers for the weak and despairing. 
Bring flowers for the weary and sad. 

Bring flowers, bring flowers, thou Queen of the Spring, 
Sweet flowers, the dark hours to cheer. 

Bring flowers for the little ones, flowers for the aged. 
Bring flowers for the bridal and bier. 
In this beautiful, sun-lighted Springtime, 
Bring flowers their fragrance to shed. 
To brighten the homes of the living. 
To garnish the graves of the dead. 



HANG UP YOUR STOCKING. 

Laugh, little Bright-eyes, hang up your stocking ; 

Don't count the days any more : 
Old Santa Glaus will soan be knocking. 
Knocking, 
Knocking at the door. 



HANG UP YOUR STOCKING. 69 

Through the key-hole slyly peeping, 
Down the chimney careful creeping, 
When the little folks are sleeping, 
Comes he with his pack of presents. 
Such a grin ! but then so pleasant, 
You would never think to fear him ; 
And you can not, tnust not hear him. 
He's so particular, you know, 
He'd just pick up his traps and go 
If but one little eye should peep 
That he thought was fast asleep. 
Searching broomstick, nails and shelf. 
Till he finds the httle stocking — 
Softly lest you hear his knocking — • 
Smiling, chuckling to himself. 
He fills it from his Christmas store. 
And out he slips to hunt for more. 

Then laugh, little Bright-eyes, and hang up your 
stocking ; 

Don't count the days any more ; 
Old Santa Claus will soon be knocking, 
Knocking, 
Knocking at che door. 



70 ROCKING THE BABY. 



BOOKING THE BABY. 

I hear her rocking the baby — 

Her room is just next to mine — 
And I fancy I feel the dimpled arms 

That round her neck entwine, 
As she rocks, and rocks the baby, 

In the room just next to mine. 
I hear her rocking the baby 

Each day when the twilight comes, 
And I know there's a world of blessing and love 

In the " baby bye " she hums. 
I see the restless fingers 

Playing with " mamma's rings," 
And the sweet little smiling, pouting mouth, 

That to hers in kissing clings, 
As she rocks and sings to the baby. 

And dreams as she rocks and sings. 

I hear her rocking the baby, 

Slower and slower now, 
And I know she is leaving her good-night kiss 

On its eyes, and cheek, and brow. 
From her rocking, rocking, rocking, 

I wonder would she start. 
Could she know, through the wall between us. 

She is rocking on a heart. 



WHITE HONEYSUCKLE. 7^ 

While my empty arms are aching 

For a form they may not press, 
And my emptier heart is breaking 

In its desolate loneliness, 
I list to the rocking, rocking, 

In the room just next to mine, 
And breathe a prayer in silence, 

At a mother's broken shrine, 
For the woman who rocks the baby 

In the room just next to mine. 



WHITE HONEYSUCKLE. 

White honeysuckle, " bond of love," 

Emblem born in Orient bowers, 
Whence mythic Deities have wooed, 

And told the soul's desire in flowers. 
As sweet thy breath as Eden's balm, 

As sweet and pure. Methinks that erst 
Thy flower was of our earth a part. 

Some angel hand the seed immersed 
In fragrance of the lotus' heart. 

And dropped it from the realm of calm. 
And life of earth, and life above. 

Thou bindest with thy " bond of love." 



72 THE FLOWER I LOVE. 



THE FLOWER I LOVE. 

The little white chrysanthemum. 

That blooms in wintry weather, 
I love and guard and cherish more 
Than all the flowers together. 

Not for its fragrance, or its grace, 

Or beauty's charm above it ; 
But just because it touched her breast 

I bless the flower, and love it. 

Her white, white cheeks, her lips, her hair, 
I kissed the day she wore it — 

Her heart was still within her breast, 
Her hands were folded o'er it. 

The flowers will bloom again, again, 

The stars will shine forever ; 
But oh ! the lips that I kissed then 

Will kiss me never, never. 

And so I love and cherish more 
Than all the flowers together, 

The little white chrysanthemum 
That blooms in wintrv weather. 



liberty's bell. 73 



LIBEETY'S BELL. 

" There 's a legend told of a far-off land " — 
The land of a king — where the people planned 
To build them a bell that never should ring 
But to tell of the death, or the birth, of a king, 
Or proclaim an event, with its swinging slow, 
That could startle the nation to joy or woe. 

It was not to be builded — this bell that they planned — 
Of common ore dug from the breast of the land. 
But of metal first moulded by skill of all arts — 
Built of the treasures of fond human hearts. 
And from all o'er the land like pilgrims they came. 
Each to cast in a burden, a mite, in the flame 
Of the furnace — his offering — to mingle and swell 
In the curious mass of this wonderful bell. 

And knights came in armor and flung in the shields 

That had warded off blows on the Saracen fields, 

And freemen brought chains from the prisons afar — 

Bonds that had fettered the captives of war. 

And sabers were cast in the molten flood 

Stained with the crimson of heroes' blood. 

Pledges of love, a bracelet, a ring, 

A gem that had gleamed in the crown of a king, 

The coins that had ransomed a maiden from death, 

The words, hot with eloquence, caught from the breath 



74 liberty's bell. 

Of a sage, and a prayer from the lips of a slave 
Were heard and recorded, and cast in the wave 
To be melted and moulded together, and tell 
The tale of their wrongs in the tones of the bell. 

It was finished at last, and, by artisan hand, 
On its ponderous beams hung high o'er the land. 
The slow years passed by ; but no sound ever fell 
On a listening ear from the tongue of the bell. 
The brown spider wove her frail home on its walls, 
And the dust settled deep in its cavernous halls. 
Men laughed in derision, and scoffed at the pains 
Of the builders ; and harder and harder the chains 
Of a tyrannous might on the people were laid, 
More insatiate, more servile, the tribute they paid. 
There was something they found far more cruel than 

death, 
And something far sweeter than life's fleeting breath. 

But, hark ! in the midst of the turbulent throng. 
The moans of the weak and the groans of the strong. 
There's a cry of alarm. Some invisible power 
Is moving the long-silent bell in the tower. 
Forward, and backward, and forward it swung, 
And Liberty ! Liberty ! Liberty ! rung 
From its wide, brazen throat, over mountain and vale, 
Till the seas caught the echo, and monarchs turned 
pale. 



LIBERTY S BELL. 75 

Our forefathers heard it — that wild, thrilling tone, 
Ringing out to the world, and they claimed it theit 

own. 
And up from the valley, and down from the hill, 
From the flame of the forge, from the field and the 

mill 
They paid with their lives the price of its due. 
And left it a legacy. Freemen, to you. 
And ever when danger is menacing nigh. 
The mighty bell swings m the belfry on high, 
And men wake from their dreams, and gr asp in afifrigh 
Their swords, when its warning sweeps out in the 

night. 

It rang a wild pean o'er war's gory waves 

"When the gyves were unloosed from our millions of 

slaves. 
It started with horror, and trembled a knell 
From ocean to ocean, when brave Lincoln fell. 
And again its wild notes sent a thrill through the land 
"When Garfield was struck by a traitorous hand. 
And once in each year, as time onward rolls. 
Slowly and muffled, and mournful it tolls 
A dirge, while Columbia pauses to spread 
A tribute of love on the graves of her dead. 
While Washington's name is emblazoned in gold, 
While the valor of Perry, or Sherman is told. 
While patriots treasure the words of a Hayne, 
The fiery drops from the pen of a Payne ; 



76 THE PALE BOATMAK. 

While dear is the name of child, mother or wife, 
Or sweet to a soul is the measure of life, 
America's sons will to battle prepare 
"When its tones of alarm ring aloud on the air ; 
For Liberty's goddess holds in her white hand 
The cord of the bell that swings over our land. 



THE PALE BOATMAN. 

They tell of a boatman, cold and pale. 

Who waits on the shores of a fathomless river 

With a noiseless oar and a white-winged sail, 
And he wafts the soul to the dim Forever. 

O, who is the boatman, pallid and slow, 

And where does the white-winged vessel go 1 

We have named him Death, who with ruthless grasp 
Each tie of our hearts will snap and sever ; 

But whence is the source of his icy clasp. 
And where is the distant, dim Forever ? 

When the pulse is stilled and the eyes are dim, 

Where goeth the soul that, goes out with him? 



OUT IN THE COLD. 77 

Suggested by reading ''Lights and Shades in San Francisco." 

OUT IN THE COLD. 

Out from a narrow, crowded street, 
Sick'ning resort of shame and crime, 

Wearing upon her brow a curse. 
Out in the darkness, lost to sight. 
Out in the dreary Winter night, 

Fleeing a fate than Nessus worse. 
On through the gathering n.ist and dew 
'Till the fog-wrapped city is hid from view ; 

'Till the rugged cliffs with the waters meet, 
And the mingled voices from every clime 

And the hurrying tramp of reckless feet 
Are drowned in the breaker's sobbing rhyme. 
But farther out than this ocean beach, 
Farther than Charity's hands will reach, 
Farther than Pity dares to come, 
Is she who rushes, with white lips dumb, 
To repeat the tale that too oft is told — 
Out in the cold. 

From the loathsome dens whose scenes appal, 
Whose tainted breath is the Simoon's blast ; 

Away on the dizzying, surf-washed rock, 
Pausing a moment upon the brink — 
Pausing a moment perchance to think ; 



78 OUT IN THE COLD. 

Sliding the bolt on Memory's lock, 
And back in its dusky, haunted hall, 
Living again the vanished past — 
Living her happy childhood o'er; 

Chasing the butterflies over the flowers, 
Petted and loved, a child again, 

Dreaming away the golden hours ; 
Living again another scene. 
Flattered and toasted " beauty's queen ; " 
Taking again, with a merry laugh. 
From gallant hands a sparkling draught. 
O, angels, tell her 'tis a draught of woe ! 
That ruin lies in its amber glow. 
Over the rest let oblivion fall. 
Cover it up with a funeral pall ; 
Turn away with a shudder and groan, 
Let her live it over alone. 

Few are the months, as they count, since then ; 
Short and joyous they else had been 
That to anguished heart and maddened brain 
Are long decades of woe and pain. 
Over, again, on the wings of thought. 
Treading the path which her ruin wrought ; 
Over, again, each step she went, 
From the sunny home to the swift descent, 
Where sin lies hid 'neath a gilded pile, 
Down to the haunts of the low and vile. 
One more step and it all is done. 



OUT IN THE COLD. 79 

Only a shriek the midnight breaks — 
Only a splash in the waves below, 

A wider ripple the water makes. 
The rock is bare by the ocean side — 
A death-white face with the ebbing tide 
Is floating away from the headland bold — 
Out in the cold. 

A lifeless form, in the wintry dawn, 

Left on the sand by a rising swell ; 
A story of weakness, shame, and wrong 

Mutely the frozen features tell. 
Noiseless fall on it, tears of dew, 

Over it softly the breezes blow ; 
Wavelets kissing the tangled hair, 

Murmur a requiem sad and low. 
Out to the barren, bleak hillside 

Rough hands bear it with scorn and jest. 
Cradled once in a mother's arms — 

Once by a mother's fond lips pressed — 
Under the clods of a new-made grave ; 

A rough-hewn board at the foot and head, 
Where never a flower of love shall wave ; 

Left with a city's nameless dead — 
Left with her fate unwept, untold- 
Out in the cold. 



So WATCHING THE SHADOWS. 



WATCHING THE SHADOWS. 

Watching the shadows, the fire-hght shadows, 

That gather and play on the wall ; 
Dark, flitting shadows, fanciful shadows, 

That gather and rise and fall. 
Reading- the fire-shadows' language of shadows, 

Pages of darkness and light — • 
Watching, watching, 

Watching the shadows to-night. 

Watching the shadows, the fire-light shadows. 

That over the wall fitful pla^j 
Dreaming of shadows, dreaming of shadows. 

Deep, darker shadows than they. 
Heart-shading shadows, soul-darkening shadows. 

Flitting in memory's light — 
Dreaming, dreaming. 

Watching the shadows to-night. 

Watching the shadows, the fire-light shadows. 

Merrily dancing about, 
Wondering if heart-shadows vanish like shadows, 

When life's fitful flame has gone out ; 
Wondering if shadows are deep; darker shadows, 

^ons of ages of blight ; 

Wondering, wondering, 

Watching the shadows to-night. 



I GIVE THEE BACK THY HEART. 



I GIYE THEE BACK THY HEABT. 

I give thee back thy fickle heart, 

Thy faithless vows I've spurned, 
I bury deep the blighted hopes 

That in my bosom burned. 

Yet who had thought a brow so fair, 

From guile so seeming free, 
A voice so sweet, so winning rare, 

So treacherous could be ? 

Who would have dreamed a form that seemed 

Proud Honor's templed shrine. 
Could hold within an urn of sin 

A soul so false as thine? 

Nor strange 'twould be, if ne'er again. 

Till age had wasted youth. 
That heart betrayed by such as thou 

Could trust in human truth. 

But go ! and though thy wiles no more 

"Will move my heart to strife. 
Canst glad thy vain soul with the thought 

That thou hast wrecked a life. 



82 IN THE TWILIGHT. 



IN THE TWILIGHT. 

In the twilight gray and shadowy. 

Deepening o'er the sunset's glow, 
Through the still, mysterious dimness 

Flitting shadows come and go. 

As my thoughts in listless wandermg 
With these phantom shadows fly, 

Meseems they wear the forms of faces. 
Faces loved in days gone by. 

One by one I recognize them 

As they silent gather near ; 
Some are loving, childish faces, 

Knowing naught of grief or fear. - 

Some are blooming, youthful faces. 

Victory confident to win, 
Some are from the contest shrinking, 

Wearied with the strife and din. 

Some are aged, wrinkled faces. 
Time life's sands has nearly run ; 

Not a leaflet spared of Springtime, 
Not a furrow left undone. 



IN THE TWILIGHT. 83 

Other faces, sweet, sad faces, 

Wafted o'er the Lethean sea, 
Radiant smile in twilight shadows, 

But they came not back to me. 

In the twilight, dreamy twilight, 

When the sultry day is gone, 
Softly over vale and hillside, 

Tenderly as blush of dawn. 

Come the timid evening breezes, 
Sighing through the Summer leaves, 

Transient as thought's pencil-paintings, 
Sweet as weft that fancy weaves. 

And as shadows in the twilight 

Shapeful forms of faces wear. 
So these dainty, light-winged zephyrs 

To my hearing, voices are. 

Voices whose sad intonations 

Seemingly, as flit they past. 
Bring to memory hopes long shattered, 

Blissful dreams too bright to last. 

Voices, merry, laughing voices, 

Fondly loved in other years, 
Mournfully are whispering to me 

That their mirth was drowned in tears. 



84 IN THE TWILIGHT. 

Telling of a fairer fortune 
Far away 'neath tropic skies, 

Telling of a broken circle, 

Scattered friends and severed ties. 

Other kindly, loving voices, 

Winning in the long ago, 
Tell me now, and then they told me, 

"Thou canst live for weal or woe." 

Are these weird and mystic voices 
But creations of the brain ? 

Only in illusive fancy 

Must I hear their tones agam ? 

Would some magic power lend me 
Aid to stay the witching tone, 

Art to paint the beauteous picture 
Ere its impress swift has flown. 

While I dreamed the day has faded, 
Stars are shining overhead, 

Evening winds have ceased to whisper, 
Twilight's shadows all have fled. 

Thus, too oft, our life-work seemeth, 
And we, when disowned its sway. 

Find we are pursuing phantoms, 
Shadows in the twilight gray. 



A THOUGHT OF HEAVEN. 85 



A THOUGHT OF HEAVEN. 

Friend of my heart, you say to me 

That your belief is this — 
That heaven is but a vision rare 

Of pure, ethereal bliss. 

And life there but a dream enhanced, 

Where never sound alarms ; 
Where flowers ne'er fade and skies ne'er cloud, 

And voiceless music charms — 

And save, as see we in our dreams 

The dear ones gone before, 
The friends that here we knew and loved, 

We'll know and love no more. 

An endless and unbroken rest, 

N or change, nor night nor day. 
Where aimless, as in sleep, we'll dream 

Eternity away. 

Sweet friend of mine, that Heaven of thine 

Methinks is overblest; 
We could not work on earth enough 

To need so long a rest. 

Great Nature's hand, its every plan, 

Has laid in wise design. 
But what design, or use, is in 

This theory of thine ? 



86 TO JENNIE. 

If, when our earth-career is done, 
All conscious life must cease, 

And we drift on, and on, and on, 
In endless, dreamy peace — 

If Heaven is but a mystic spell, 
Whose glowing visions thrall. 

Why should we have a life beyond ? 
Why have a Heaven at all ? 



TO JENNIE. 

Farewell, my darling, fare thee well. 

Life hence has only dearth ; 
With thee it were too sweet a dream — 

Too much of Heaven, for earth. 
Thou dost not know the depth of pain 

This parting gives to me. 
Nor how, as time drags weary on, 

My soul will sigh for thee. 

Each loved one that thou leavest here 

Some other love may wear, 
Each heart will have some other heart 

Its loneliness to share. 
But I have nothing, darling, left — 

You 're all the world to me — 
And only God and Heaven can know 

The love I give to thee. 



LIGHT BEYOND. 87 



LIGHT BEYOND. 

Is your heart bowed down with sorrow ; 

Does your lot the hardest seem ; 
Think you of a brighter morrow, 

Of a fairer future dream. 

Have your prospects all been blighted; 

Has each promise proved a snare ; 
Deepest wrongs are sometimes righted, 

Never yield you to despair. 

Has the slanderer's tongue unsparing 
Ruihless tarnished with its stain ; 

Was your good name worth the wearing- 
Go and win it back again. 

Would you rest where sunshine lingers ; 

You must toil the darkness through ; 
Only work with willing fingers, 

Only live you brave and true. 

Never care or trouble borrow — 
" Trouble 's real if it seems " — 

Ever see a bright to- morrow, 

Though you see it but in dreams. 



88 WOULD YOU CARE? 



WOULD YOU CAEE? 

All day on my pillow I wearily lay, 

With a stabbing pain at my heart, 
With throbbing temples, and a feverish thirst 

Burning my lips apart. 
If I longed for a touch of your soft, strong hand, 

For you one little minute there ; 
For a smile, or a kiss, or a word to bless, 

Would you blame me, love — would you care ? 

When the long, long, lonesome day was done, 

And you never for a moment came, 
If I tried to shut you out of my heart, 

Impatient at your name ; 
If disappointment's bitter sting 

Was harder than pain to bear, 
If I turned away with a doubting frown, 

Would you blame me, love — would you care ? 

Should I die to-night, and you saw me not 

Again till my soul had fled 
With its vain request, and my features wore 

The white hue of the dead — 
Would you place, just once, in a last caress, 

Your hand on my death- damp hair? 
Would you give me a thought, or a fond regret ? 

Would you kiss me, love ? — would you care ? 



GOOD-BYE. 89 



GOOD-BYE. 

Good-bye ! Good-bye ! 
Once pledged we fondly o'er and o'er 
That naught should cloud our love's bright sky ; 
Once thought we that we could not stay 
Apart and live. But oh ! for us 
Fate willed it not to linger thus. 
To-day earth's wintry poles apart 
Are further not than we in heart, 
Nor colder than our sunless way. 
Passion and pride can do no more, 
And you and I can only say 

Good-bye ! Good-bye ! 

Good-bye ! Good-bye ! 
So sad it seems the sound of tears, 
So sad it seems life's parting sigh, 
And yet, alas ! it can but be. 
Deserted, ghostly wrecks of dreams 
Once freighted with Hope's golden gleams, 
Wrecks drifting on a sullen sea. 
To mock the memory-haunted years, 
Are all now left to you and me. 

Good-bye ! Good-bye ! 



90 CONSOLANCE. 



CONSOLANCE. 

"Be brave?" why, yes, I will; I'll never more 
despair ; 

Who could, with such sweet comforting as yours ? 
How, like the voice that stilled the tempest air, 

Your mild philosophy its reasoning pours. 

Go you and build a temple to the skies, and make 
Your soul an altar-ofifering on the pile ; 

Then, from its lightning-riven ruin, take 

Your crushed and bleeding self, and calmly smile. 

When loud, and fierce, and wild, a storm sweeps o'er 
your rest. 

Say that it soothes you — brings you peace again ; 
Laugh while the hot steel quivers in your breast, 

And ' ' make believe " you love the scorching pain. 

See every earthly thing your life is woven round 
Fall, drop by drop, until your heart is sieved! 

Go mad, and writhe,, and moan upon the ground, 
And curse and die, and say that you have prayed 
and lived! 

Then come to me, as now, and I will take your hand. 
And look upon your face, and smile, and say : 

" All were not born to hold a magic wand ; 
Cheer up, my friend, you must be brave alway. " 



WHEN THE ROSES GO. 9I 



WHEN THE EOSES GO. 

You tell me you love me ; you bid me believe 
That never such lover could mean to deceive. 
You tell me the tale which a million times 
Has been told, and talked, and sung in rhymes : 
You rave o'er my " eyes " and my "beautiful hair," 
And swear to be true, as they always swear ; 
But the wrinkles will grow, and the roses go, 
And lovers are rovers oft, you know, 
When the roses go. 

I have heard of a woman, sweet and fair, 
With dewy lips and shining hair, 
And you pledged to her, on your bended knee. 
The self-same vow you make to me. 
She was fairer than I, I know ; 
She was pure and true, and she loved you so j 
But the wrinkles will grow, and the roses go — 
How she learned that trouble comes, you know, 
When the roses go. 

You're a man in each outward sense, I trow, 
With the stamp of a god on your peerless brow. 
You hold my hand in your thrilling clasp. 
And my heart grows weak in your subtle grasp, 
Till I blush in the light of your tender eyes, 
And dream of a far-off paradise — 



92 A REGRET. 

Almost forgetting that ever from these 
Another was turned in her bleak depair. 
But the wrinkles will grow, and the roses go- 
I will answer you, love, my love, you know, 
When the foses go. 



A EEGRET. 

Close on my heart was resting 

A sunny, golden head. 
As the dim gray of the twilight 

Crept round with noiseless tread. 

'* Tell me a 'tory, mamma," 
The blue-eyed baby said, 

" 'Bout some itty birdies 
In za itty birdie bed. 

" 'Bout fen oo was itty 

An' ze mens was wakin' hay 

An' found free ittie birdies 
Wiz za muzzer don away." 

" Some other time, my darling ; 

Mamma's tired now." 
A shade of disappointment 

Swept over baby's brow. 



A SHATTERED IDOL. 93 

The dear blue eyes grew misty ; 

O, lips that lived to blame, 
That kissed and whispered "sometime"— 

That " sometime " never came. 

Again the dim, gray twilight 

Creeps round with noiseless tread, 

But on my heart is resting 
No sunny, golden head. 

No sweet voice pleads with mamma, 

" Tell me a 'tory " now, 
And only death can take away. 

The shadow on my brow. 



A SHATTEEED IDOL. 

O blame me not for the cruel words 

In a moment of madness said ; 
The shadow that fell upon my life 

Is cold as the shrouded dead. 
Deem not I am hard and heartless ; 

My tears are as warm as thine ; 
'Twas clay that I crowned and worshiped, 

And wept o'er its crumbled shrine. 



94 POOR LITTLE JOE. 

To me, my passionate, deathless soul, 

Was less than his finger-tips ; 
He turned away from the gold of my love 

For the dross on a wanton's lips. 
My faith in his truth, is broken — 

Even truth itself is a licj 
I have cursed him ! — but I love him, 

And I'll love him till I die. 



POOR LITTLE JOE. 

A ring on the door-bell, 

Some one at the door, 
Mute asking admittance 

Where never before 
A stranger in midnight, 

In silence and stealth, 
Sought access to gain 

In a mansion of wealth. 
Into the gaslight 

A package is borne ; 
Quickly from round it 

The wrappings are torn. 
What is it ? a baby ! 

What seek you to-night, 
So rosy and smiling, 

Nor in fear, nor in fright ? 



POOR LITTLE JOE. 95 

Ah ! little intruder, 

What is it you wear 
So close to your breast ? 

Sure but hand in despair 
Could have written the message 

Unconscious you bear, 
And " loved •" and " God blessed " you 

While leaving you there. 
Let's see what the story 

'Tis telling for you ; 
How brief and pathetic ; 

But can it be true ? 
A mother heart-brokenly 

Praying in grief 
From hand of a stranger 

Her baby's relief. 
" He's helpless and homeless, 

But stainless as snow ; 
Oh, take him and keep him — 

My poor little Joe I" 

That's all there is of it, 

If false or if true ; 
Yet long enough seems it, 

And sad enough, too. 
No love-welcome greeted 

The sweet baby face, 
In the life that gave his life 

There was not a place. 



96 POOR LITTLE JOE. 

No place for the baby, 

There's none for him here, 

No heart that may give him 
A smile or a tear. 

Off to the refuge, 

For such, he must go, 

He's only a foundling — 

. Poor little Joe. 

Deserted, forsaken. 

Thrust out in the strife, 
Adrift on the pitiless 

Ocean of life. 
What will become of him, 

Who may decide 
If good or if evil 

His life shall betide ? 
No tender ca resses 

Ever to know. 
Nor guidance, nor blessing — 

Poor little Joe. 



FATE. 97 



FATE. 



Ruth was a laughing- eyed prattler, 
Thoughtless, and happy, and free ; 

She planted a seed in the garden, 
And said : " It will grow to a tree — 
A beautiful blossoming tree." 

The birds and the squirrels played round it, 

As careless and merry was she, 
But no tree ever grew from her planting — 
No beautiful, blossoming tree. 

Ruth was a winsome-faced maiden, 

Happy, and hopeful, and free ; 
She planted a seed in the garden, 

And smilingly waited to see — 
A beautiful, blossoming tree. 

She covered the ground up with flowers, 

The butterfly came, and the bee, 
Bu no tree ever grew from her planting — 

No beautiful, blossoming tree. 

Ruth was a pale, saddened woman. 
Thoughtful, with tremblings and fears; 

She planted a seed in the garden, 
And watered the place with her tears — 

And watched it with tremblings and fears. 



98 THE GHOSTS IN THE HEART. 

The winds and the rains beat upon it, 
The lightnings flashed o'er it in giee ; 

But she sleeps 'neath the tree of her planting 
A beautiful, blossoming tree. 



THE GHOSTS IN THE HEABT. 

They come in the hush of the midnight. 
In the glare of the noonday start 

Out from the graves we made them — 
The graves we made in the heart. 

There is love with its fickle fancies ; 

Its grave was so wide and deep, 
And we heaped the mound with oblivion, 

But the soul of the love could not sleep. 

And hate ! ah, we buried it deeper, 

Than all the rest of the train ; 
But one word through memory flashing. 

And its ghost comes back again. 

There are phantoms of sunshiny hours 
That fled when the summer-time fled, 

And spectres that mock while they haunt us, 
Long buried, but never dead. 



OLD AUNT LUCY. 99 

And ever and ever an hour / 

Will come that the heart-wraiths control, 

Till down from Eternity's tower 
A banshee shall ring for the soul. 



OLD AUNT LUCY. 

Why into that darkened chamber 

Walk you with such noiseless tread ? 

No slumbering one will awaken — 
The sheeted form is dead. 

Why gaze on the rigid features, 
So white in death's embrace, 

"With such look of awe and pity ? 
'Tis only the same old face. 

Why touch you now so tender 

The hands that silent lay ? 
They're only the sunburned fingers 

That toiled for you night and day. 

Why, now, with tear-dimmed vision, 

So softly do you press 
Upon the wrhikled forehead 

Your lips in sad caress ? 



lOO OLD AUNT LUCY, 

How much of care had lighted 
That lingering, loving kiss, 

Had you in life but gave it — 
You never thought of this. 

No loving hand e'er brightened 
Her life with tender care, 

No mother's baby-kisses 
Were ever hers to share. 

Only for others caring, 

The long, long years have fled ; 
Now, only, they say — the neighbors — 

"Poor old Aunt Lucy's dead," 

And they whisper a girl's ambition, 
A name in the world to make ; 

'Way back in her vanished youth-time, 
Gave up for a duty's sake. 

But whatever had been the story 
Of love, or grief, or woe, 

It died with the heart, and no one 
Will ever care or know. 

The hands were hard and toil-stained, 
And sallow the cheeks and chin, 

But whiter not the snow-wreath 
Than the soul that dwelt within. 



UNSPOKEN WORDS. lOI 



And methinks a crown resplendent- 
Just over the waveless sea — 

"With gems of self-denial, 
Awaits for such as she. 



UNSPOKEN WORDS. 

Unspoken words may thrill the heart, 

Their meaning be more deeply felt 
Than all the glowing oratory 

Poured at the shrine where reason knelt. 
The fairest pictures art conceives, 

The noblest sentiments of mind, 
The loveliest, purest gems of thought 

Are those which never are defined. 

The hand that paints the rainbow dyes 

Ne'er leaves a trace its skill to show — 
The art that gilds the sunset skies 

And tints the flower, we may not know. 
Nor may we know the wizard power 

Which o'er our being wields control, 
Nor how, when silence seals the lips. 

Heart speaks to heart and soul to soul. 



102 UNSPOKEN WORDS. 

We do not know from whence the life 

Imbued in crystal drop of rain, 
Nor why, when torn and trampled on, 

The rose's fragrance will remain. 
Nor know we why the tender tone 

Will linger when love's dream is fled, 
Nor why the smile we loved will live, 

Although the face it wreathed be dead. 

Some strangely fascinating spell 

Steals o'er the heart in ethic's hour ; 
We know not what, nor how, nor why, 

Still must we own we feel its power — 
A power that wakens slumbering dreams, 

Intangible emotion swells, 
That penetrates the soul's deep fount, 

And greets the tide that from it swells. 

It is not charm of form or face. 

Nor is it long contact of years 
That wins this mutual soul response. 

This spirit sympathy endears. 
A theory by time engraved 

From life, one mad impulse may sweep- 
A glance may into being start 

Vain hopes that nevermore may sleep. 
The quiet touch when hands are clasped 

Would seemmgly no sense impart, 
Yet may it wake a deathless theme 

And send it quivering to the heart. 



O, TAKE AWAY YOUR FLOWERS. I03 

And thus may kindred spirits feel, 
Though tone of voice be never heard, 

The sweet, impassioned eloquence, 
The magic of unspoken words. 



O! TAKE AWAY YOUR FLOWERS. 

! take your pale camelias back ; 

Their soft leaves, waxen white 
And odorless, too ill accord 

With my dark mood to-night. 

I do not want your hot-house flowers, 
They're like the love you give — 

A something tame and passionless 
That breathes but does not live. 

You take my hand as though you feared 

Your clasp were over-bold. 
Your kiss falls light as flake of snow, 

And just as calm and cold. 

I'd rather have your hatred 
Than this lifeless loving claim, 

If your heart beat one throb faster 
At mention of my name. 



104 RAIN. 



Leave me, and bind those soulless leaves 

A calmer brow above ; 
I cannot wear your flowers to night — 

I do not want your love. 



KAIN. 

Drop ! drop ! drop ! 

With a ceaseless patter fall, 
With a sobbing sound on the sodden ground, 

And the gray clouds over all. 
Dost weep for the parted summer, 

O, spirit of the rain ? 
For the vanished hours and the faded flowers 

That never can come again ? 

The farmer smiles at thy weeping, 

Hushing the weeping leaves, 
And dreams of days m the Autumn haze 

And the gathered golden sheave?. 
There's a voice of hope, a promise, 

In the sound of thy refrain, 
And as bright the hours and as fair the flowers 

That win come to thee again. 



I LOVE HIM FOR HIS EYES. 1 05 

And yet in our lives, though knowing 

That we hold a scepter's sway, 
How oft we turn with the thoughts that burn, 

To weep on Autumn day. 
Turn from the hopeful future 

To weep in grief and pain, 
For the vanished hours and the faded flowers 

That never can come again. 



I LOVE HIM FOE HIS EYES. 

They praise the baby's dimpled hands, 

His brow so broad and fair ; 
They kiss the dainty rose-bud mouth, 

Caress the sunny hair. 
His lisping words, his tottling steps, 

His smiles they praise and prize ; 
They love him for his cunning ways, 

I love him for his eyes. 

The wealth of golden-tmted curls 

Old Time will streak with snow ; 
The rose-bud mouth so dainty curved 

To sterner lines will grow. 
The fleeting years will mark with change 

Each feature now they prize, 
Save only those sweet eyes I love — 

I love him for his, eyes. 



lo6 ONLY. 



Oh, baby, take your eyes away ; 

They burn into my heart ! 
I'll kiss you once, and say good-by, 

And hide the tears 'that start ; 
But through the years to come and go, 

The changeful scenes to rise, 
I'll love the little baby boy — 

I love him for his eyes. 



ONLY. 



Only a sentence earnest spoke, 
With never a thought to word it, 

Fell like balm from the sea of calm. 
On the aching heart that heard it. 

Only a glance, a scornful smile, 
A wavering purpose altered. 

Goaded a hand the crime to do 
At which before it faltered. 

Only a kiss, a love caress, 
Tender and trustful given, 

Banished a cloud from brow of care, 
Made home a woman's Heaven. 



somebody's baby's dead. 107 

Only a secret, chance disclosed, 

Whence secret should be never, 
A doubt crept into the heart that loved. 

And its light went out forever. 

Only a prayer, a wrong confessed, 

By suppliant lowly kneeling. 
Opened the gate where the angels wait, 

Life's Eden field revealing. 

Careful then scatter the little things ; 

They make life drear and lonely, 
Or strew its way with flowers gay — 

We live for trifles only. 



SOMEBODY'S BABY'S DEAD. 

A hearse all draped in mourning, 
With white plumes overhead, 

Bearing a little coffin — 
Somebody's baby's dead. 

Upon the velvet cover 

Some hand has placed a wreath^ 
White as the waxen features 

Of the baby that Hes beneath. 



108 THE WITHERED ROSEBUD. 

Out in the graveyard making 
A rest for a shining head, 

Somebody's heart is breaking, 
Somebody's baby's dead. 

Over a baby's coffin, 

Heaping a mound of clay, 

Somebody's hopes are buried 
In that Httle grave to-day. 

Somebody's home is dreary, 
Somebody's sunshine fled ; 

Somebody's sad and weary. 
Somebody's baby's dead. 



THE WITHEEED KOSEBUD. 

I gathered you, sweet little rosebud, 

With a dew-crown encircling your head ; 
Now out of the window I toss you. 

Shriveled, and scentless, and dead. 
You had opened to wondrous perfection, 

Had only my hand let you pass ; 
Yet here you have perished for water — 

I forgot to put some in the glass. 



MY SHIPS HAVE COME FROM SEA. IO9 

Ah ! poor little withered, dead rosebud, 

How many a weak, human heart, 
Too like you, has famishing perished, 

When life had but only a start ! 
Yes, many a heart, little rose-bud, 

Loving, and tender, and true, 
For water has faded and withered, 

And died in its beauty like you. 
Not because there was dearth of life's fountain, 

Nor the blessing to all might not pass. 
But because the strong hand which it clung to 

Forgot to put some in its glass. 



MY SHIPS HAVE COME FKOM SEA. 

You are watching a ship, O maiden fair, 
With parted lips and wistful air. 
The ship that out from the sheltered bay 
With white sails spread moves slow away ; 
And I know, my girl, the thoughts that burn 
In your heart are of that ship's return. 
Ah ! I know so well how your pulses beat, 
With the great sea sobbing at your feet ; 
And the yellow stars in southern skies 
Are brighter not than your love-bright eyes. 



no MY SHIPS HAVE COME FROM SEA, 

I, too, have stood on the sea-wet sand, 

And tearful waved a farewell hand, 

And watched with many a longing prayer. 

My face, like yours, was young and fair, 

And my eyes were bright as the diamond's glow 

They've lost their sparkle long ago. 

I stand alone on the beach to-day, 

Watching the ships that sail away ; 

But never a sail from over the sea 

The flowing tide will bring to me. 

My ships have come from sea. 

The first was builded with childish hand ; 
It floated away a castle grand — 
A beautiful bubble with rambow hues, 
Lined with the crystal of morning dews ; 
To break at my feet by the sunny sea, 
A beautiful bubble came back to me — 
Came back from my ship at sea. 

I fashioned another in gladsome way 
And sent it forth on a summer day. 

I see it yet, a fairer craft, 
Never at danger mocking laughed ; 
Its shrouds were the sheen of happy hours, 
Its helm a wreath of orange flowers ; 
And I freighted it down with love and truth, 
The golden hopes of my sunny youth. 



MY SHIPS HAVE COME FROM SEA. 

Had it lived the storm — but it could not be, 
A stranded wreck on the surf-washed lea, 
My ship came home from sea. 

And then a smiling fairy bark, 
A fragile, precious-freighted ark, 
Out on life's ocean drear and dark. 
And I prayed to God as I never before, 
To shield this bark from the tempest's roar ; 
To spare me this — but it could not be. 
A tiny coffin came back to me — 

Came back from my ship at sea. 

With reckless hand I launched again, 
A venture on the treacherous main, 
Bound for ambition's dizzy court ; 
Sailed from a hopeless, loveless port ; 
With gloomy walls whose silence chilled. 
With ghostly haunting memories filled. 
With never a breath of the roses dead ; 
Never a rest for a weary head, 
Never a dream of a sweet to be, 
Hopeless, loveless still, to me, 

My ship came home from sea. 

The last, and least, of all the ships 
Fashioned with hands, and heart, and lips, 
I pushed from shore with its decks untrod, 
And the freight it bore was my faith in God. 



112 MOUNT WHITNEY. 

I recked not whither its way, nor when, 
Nor how, if ever, 'twould come again. 
And this, alone, came back to me. 
Rich-laden from the stormy sea. 
And so, sweet maiden,' while your dreams 
Paint fairest all chat fairest seems, 
I stand with you and watch to-day 
The ship that sails from the shore away ; , 
But never a sail from over the sea 
The flowing tide will bring to m.e — 
My ships have come from sea. 



MOUNT WHITNEY. 

Stern sentinel of Pacific's broad embrace. 

Thou standest drear and lone ; 
The sun's first glance falls on thy snowy face ; 

Thou hear'st the ocean's moan. 
With foreheads bared, the hills enclose thee round ; 

Winds woo thee o'er in storm and zephyr sweet. 
And summer, with her girdle loosely bound. 

Like some fair Ruth, lies blushing at thy feet. 
No bird on thy bleak summit seeks its rest ; 

No flower e'er blossoms on thy chilling breast. 
The nations rise, and die, and rise again, 

And still thou standest lone, and drear, and cold- 



LILIES. 

Immovable, unchangeable as when 

The first-born century above thee rolled. 

Thy vigil keep;, O Mount, till on the brink 
Of Chaos Time shall break his flight, 

Wrapped in thy solitary grandeur sink, 
Like lost Atlantis, in thy might. 



H3 



LILIES. 

With eyes a-dimmed and downcast, 
She stood at the foot of the cross, 

Bowing, in deep submission. 
Under the weight of her loss, 

And she held in her hand a lily. 
Close at the foot of the cross. 

A beautiful, perfect lily. 
To lay at the Savior's feet ; 

Sign in her silent sorrow — 

Of her worship — passion sweet — 

A snowy, a sinless offering. 
To lay at the Savior's feet. 

" Behold thy mother and brethren ! " 
A voice came up from the crowd 
To the ear of the dying Savior — 
The Savior murmuring aloud : 

" These are thy mother and brethren ! ' 
Looked on the muttering crowd. 



1 14 LILIES. 

And the mother's heart that was in her 
Swelled with a jealous fear, 

And down in the cup of the lily 
Dropped she a burning tear — 

Dropped on the snow of the lily 
The blot of a selfish fear. 

Dropped in the cup of the lily 
A tear that was hot with pain, 

And the snowy heart of the lily 
Was snowy never again. 

The wax-white heart had withered 
In the salt of its burning pain. 

And ever the beautiful lilies 

Are placed at the feet of the Lord. 

Baptized with the tear of a mother, 
Keep they, a sinless ward — 

Sign of a silent worship 

At the cross of the risen Lord. 

And ever and ever the lilies 
We lay with a smile or a tear, 

A sacred gift on the altar 

Of the idols we worship here, 

But deep in each lily's chalice 
Is the yellow stain of a tear. 



TO E. R. W. 115 



TO E. E. W. 

You asked me to write you a poem 

That eve when we stood alone 
At the foot of the convent garden — 

We heard in its softened tone 
The half-hur,hed noise of the city ; 

The moon, just arisen, shown 
Through the shivering, rustling locusts. 

In a flood of quivering bars, 
And the wind was full of fragrance. 

And the night was full of stars. 
The hour itself was a poem, 

One of those "gems in the rough," 
That we quit with a sigh the reading — 

They are never long enough. 

You asked me to write you a poem, 

And your eyes looked into mine — 
O, your eyes were the grandest poem ! 

Full of a theme divine, 
Like the holy calm that severs 

The day and the night apart, 
The grandest, the sweetest of poems 

A woman e'er learned by heart. 



Il6 TO E. R. W. 

What little things one will remember ! 

I can see yet the moon on your coat, 
I can hear what you said of the violets 

Pinned in the lace at my throat. 

You asked me to write you a poem; 

I answered, " I will, sometime ;" 
And I- thought — of the place and the season 

I will weave him a golden rhyme. 
For the sound of a song in the distance 

Awaited the touch of my pen — 
Reason had lost her resistance, 

The world was a poem then ! 
Alas ! who may vesture the graces, 

Who may set into rythmical bars 
Of measure, the measureless spaces, 

Or gather the gleam of the stars ? 
Who can wrest from a rose-leaf its fragrance ? 

From the night wind the sigh that he heard, 
Or mix him the tints of the rainbow, 

Or write out the song of a bird ? 

I thought I could write you a poem, 

But over the wreckful sea 
The traitorous Caprean maidens 

Were singing their songs to me. 
I could not — I never could write it, 

Tho' mine were all poesy's tiars, . 



LITTLE BERTIE. II7 

Tho' my pen. were the plume of an angel, 

And dipped in the vestal fires — 
Only a god can write you 

The poem your heart desires. 



LITTLE BERTIE. 

Once the angels up in heaven 
Pushed the gates of gold apart, 

And sent the brightest of their number 
Down to bless a mother's heart. 

Bertie, sunshine of the household, 
Like some fair and fragile flower. 

Grew a dainty rose-bud maiden, 
Fairer, sweeter, hour by hour. 

But the winds of life were dreary. 
And its songs her ear oppressed, 

And the little maiden, weary, 

Drooped and laid her down to rest ; 

And the angels up in heaven 
Pushed the gates of gold apart, 

And took the precious, priceless spirit 
Back into the Father's heart. 



Il8 WISHES. 

Close the brown eyes sweet and tender, 

Fold the hands so waxen fair, 
O'er the dimpled, snowy shoulders. 

Loose her wondrous shining hair. 

Never more will joy or sorrow 

Break her silent, sinless rest ; 
You loved her with your earth-born worship. 

But the angels loved her best. 



WISHES. 

I wish that I could hold my father's hand 

Against my lips in reverence and truth — 

Ahd ask him to forgive each act of mine, 

That grieved him in my thoughtless, wayward youth. 

I wish those sweet, dark pleading eyes of hers, 
(The child whose precious life I made a shrine 
To worship at) from that dim shadow-land, 
Would look less sorrowfully into mine. 

I wish that I could lock the gate, and lose 
The keys, to folly's fount of fruitless tears — 
That I could keep my hands from reachmg for 
The hollow phantom of the shapeless years. 



FORGOTTEN HEROES. II9 

When death has solved its mystery of pain, 

When I have crossed the bridge from sphere to sphere, 

I wish that God would let me come again, 

And tell you what I could not tell you here. 



FOKGOTTEN HEROES. 

What is that horrible din on the street. 

Above all the noise of the hurrying crowd ? 

An organ-grinder out on his beat ! 

Strange such a nuisance is ever allowed 

To encumber the ground and annoy people so ; 

The tune is enough to drive any one mad. 
Who could write out a thought with that racket below? 

A whole morning wasted ! I declare, it's too bad ! 

If the man who invented that horrid machine 
Isn't warming his toes down in Tophet to-day 

With the craziest organ that ever was seen, 

Then things are misstated. I — what did you say? 

** A soldier that's making that dolorous sound ? " 
You're surely mistaken. Let's see. What's that 
large 

White card on his breast ? " Made blind by a wound 
Received at Chapultepec, leading a charge." 



I20 FORGOTTEN HEROES. 

As I live, 'tis a soldier ! His hair is as white 
As the snow of the poles, and his trembling form 

Is bowed with the weight of its years — what a sight — 
The giant oak's withering after the storm. 

Old man, let me shake your one brown wrinkled hand 
While I sigh for the wrong that has left you this lot. 

I'll drop a' poor dollar, too, into your palm ; 
I wish 'twas a thousand — it's all I have got. 

Nay, thank me not, soldier; I owe it to you. 

'Tis never a charity gratitude gives. 
Alone to such hearts of the loyal and true 

Our nation to-day owes the boon that she lives. 

And my own dear father might stand in your place. 

He, too, was a soldier, and fought with the brave. 
A kindlier fortune stooped down to embrace ; 

Death made him a couch in the vault of the grave. 

Then, soldier, I pray you play for me again, 
And softly, sing softly, " Pass under the Rod," 

Your rythm of sadness is sweet in its pain 

As the song that the angels are singing to God. 

Must you go ? Then farewell, if you must go so soon. 

O, Providence, strange are the ways of thy might ! 
The hand that is turning that pitiful tune 

Has wielded a saber in Liberty's fight. 



ISOLDE TO SIR TRISTRAM. 121 

That tremulous voice that is pleading so low 

Has shouted a charge, while the foe has stood dumb? 

Those tired, worn feet, that so tottering go. 
Have started at sound of the reveille drum. 

Unwearied, unfaltering, have marched up the hight 
Where the bristling bayonets guardian kept; 

Those sad ey es now locked in the thralldom of night 
Have sentinel watched while an army has slept. 

An American soldier, a beggar to bend ! 

Gracious heaven! What a spectacle this of our own! 
What subject for artist in colors to blend — 

For chisel of sculptor to carve out in stone ! 

A blind, cripple soldier ! and begging the street 

In a land whose proud honor his quick steel has kept! 

The morn of his manhood he laid at her feet. 
Has his country forgotten ? Has Liberty slept ? 



ISOLDE TO SIR TRISTEAM. 

Oh. hungry heart, that searchest all in vain 
For that thy life most craves and needs — soul-rest, 
To me, instinctive, comes thy cry of pain, 
And this : that thou couldst find it on my breast. 



122 ISOLDE TO SIR TRISTRAM. 

He were a fool who would sit pining down 
And by a Dian's frozen beauty die, 
When Phryne stood with Nature's royal crown 
Of Womanhood, unbound, inviting by ! 

I am not beautiful ; the partial gods 

Gave to me neither perfect form nor face, 

And yet, methinks, if thou wouldst come, the odds 

Thou'dst swear were with the subtle innate grace 

Would that thou from mine flash all thy beings o'er 
If that thy hand but touch my finger tips ; 
And Orient wines, aye, draughts that Peris pour, 
Were less intoxicating than my lips. 

I'd take thee from the ice-imprisoned poles 
To where love's islands meet the kissing sun, 
And thou shouldst learn the ecstacy of souls 
Attracted, met and melted into one. 

Enraptured, gazing down into my -face. 
Thou wouldst forget the gods left aught to prize : 
Thou'dst think the world were clasped in thine embrace 
And Heaven's stars were lighted from my eyes. 

The passioned thrill that trembles in my breast 
Came with my fierce blood from the fiery South. 
I hold a chalice brimmed with love and rest 
For thee ; wilt come and drink it from my mouth ? 



"till the sea gives up its dead." 123 



"TILL THE SEA GIVES UP ITS DEAD." 

He sailed away — o'er the sea away, 

Your sailor brave ; 
Your tears fell fast, but they could not stay 

Your sailor brave. 
He left on your lips his love's caress. 
He whispered in love's low tenderness 
His fond adieu ; and you tried to share 
The zealful ardor that called him there ; 
You could not hear that the sad waves said, 

" Till the sea gives up its dead." 
The shivering, hungry, treacherous waves 
That covered a thousand sailors' graves. 
Crept out to your feet and in warning said : 

•' Till the sea gives up its dead." 

Away to the frozen North he sailed — 

Your sailor brave ; 
The icy bars of the North enj ailed 

Your sailor brave. 
The snow-wind came with a moaning start, 
Chilling the blood to his warm brave heart ; 
He could not hear that each fierce blast said 

" Till the sea gives up its dead." 
The pitiless, soulless, death ful blasts. 
That rattled a thousand blackening masts. 
In his own ship's rigging sang and said 

"Till the sea gives up its dead." 



124 TILL THE SEA GIVES UP ITS DEAD. 

O wife, and mother, you long will wait 

For your sailor brave ; 
You long will watch by the Golden Gate 

For your sailor brave. 
The way from the fields of snow is long, 
And the icy bars of the North are strong — 
And the waves that laughed at your sorrow said 

"Till the sea gives up its dead." 

Many a heart with your own will wait 

For your sailor brave ; 
Will search for a sign to know the fate 

Of your sailor brave, 
But the ice king holds his treasures well, 
And the mocking seas no secret tell — 
And each moaning blast of the snow-wind said 

" Till the sea gives up its dead." 

O desolate woman ; in vain you sigh 

For your sailor brave ; 
The cry of your heart in its pain will die 

For your sailor brave. 
Who tears the veil from that frozen door, 
To his home and his friends returns no more. 
Your eyes will dim, and your hopes will set 
For your love who sailed on the lost Jeannette. 
The frosty breath of the polar skies 
Has kissed the light in your sailor's eyes. 
And the snow will pillow your lost love's head, 

" Till the sea gives up its dead." 



FRAGMENTS. 



FEAGMENTS. 



125 



O, drearily falling Autumn rain, 

O, cold October rain ; 
There's weariness in your sound to-night, 
A tired sigh, and a touch of blight, 

And a sob of pain. 
Behind the curtains the soft lights gleam 
Bright as the glint of a lover's dream ; 
In mirth, and music, and dance, and song, 
Merrily speed the hours along. 
A world of beauty, and warmth, and glow, 
A world that you cannot touch you know ; 

O, dreary rain ! 
There's never a sigh or a touch of blight, 

Or a sob of pain ; 
But my heart is akin to you to-night — 

O, cold October rain. 



I have never, you think, a serious thought, 

My friend — 
Never a moment by sorrow taught 

Its sympathy to lend. 
Can you by the light of laughing eyes 
See all there is in the heart that Hes 

Under a smile, my friend ? 



126 FRAGMENTS. 

Forever wrapped in their glittering shrouds 

Of snow, 
Are the mountain peaks that touch the clouds ; 

But ah, my friend, you know 
There are smoldering fiires that never rest, 
And earthquakes hid in the mountains breast, 

Under the cold, white snow. 



The musical chiming of wedding bells ; 
The slow, slow tolling of dirgeful knells ; 
A lover's kiss, and a sweet good-bye ; 
A mourner's tears, and a dying sigh ; 
A night spent gaily in dance and song ; 
A night in a woeful vigil long ; 
Hearts that jest at a thought of pain ; 
And hearts that will never be glad again ; 
Over and over, the rose and the mould ; 
And the social tale of the world is told. 



Wild and high the breezes sweep 

And soft and low, 
From Pacific's heaving deep. 

And Sierra's snow, 
And slowly Autumn's shadows creep 

O'er Summer's glow. 



FRAGMENTS. 1 27 

The shimmering robe of the Summer, 

With its threads of burnished gold, 
The hands of an " angel comer " 

Into a shroud enfold. 
Gone is the red of the berries 

That burned in the stain of her lips, 
Faded the pink of the cherries 

That tmted her finger-tips. 
Autumn, with softest wooing, 

Kissed the light of her brow ; 
But his touch was her life's undoing — 

Summer is dying now. 



Go down in the perilous depths of the sea 

Where its pearly treasures are ; 
Bring gems that have lain in a dead man's eyes, 

To braid in a maiden's hair. 

Bring the gorgeous weft from orient looms 

Proud fashion's queen to lave, — 
Each thread is wrought with the thread of a life, 

And stained with the tear of a slave. 



The violet buds of the May-time 
Died with the May's sweet breath. 

And June, with its passioned wooing, 
Is kissing the rose to death. 



128 FRAGMENTS. 

Chime loud a requiem in cathedral towers, 
Old melancholy Lent to-day is dead. — 

We'll fold his hands and heap white Easter flowers 
Upon its coffined head. 



O hearts that are world-a-weary, 
O lives that are lived in vain, 

O feverish maze of aimless days, 
Ye follow in Fashion's train. 



The buds of the spring-time and summer's long hours 

In this silvery cup now we place; 
May the roses of autumn, and winters snow flowers, 

Bloom bright in a golden vase. 



But one little stocking ! there used to be two 
Hung up for the Christmas treasures ; 

I dropped in a tear as I fifled it anew — 
Too sad are the Christmas pleasures. 

O sainted, O sweet, Mother^Mary ! 

For motherhood's blessing and dearth, 
Put a gift in the stocking in heaven 

And say its from mamma on earth. 



THE SIGN OF THE CROSS. 



129 



THE SIGN OF THE CROSS. 

" What will you give me ? " I asked him — 

My lover of long ago. 
" What shall I keep to remember 

That ever you loved me so ? " 
"Little one," softly he ansvi^ered, 

" To keep you in mind of your loss, 
Long as you live, for a token, 

I'll make you the sign of the cross." 

Light as the touch of the Zephyr 

That blows in the nights of the South, 
With my face in his hands — he kissed me 

On forehead, and eyes, and mouth. 
I could forget that he loved me. 

Forget, too, the pain of my loss. 
But hid in my bosom forever. 

Is burning his sign of the cross . 



130 EPHEMERALS. 



EPHEMEEALS. 

One year ago, one little year, to-day, 

We wandered far among the fields and flowers, 

And time, it seemed, must be one long sweet May 
Of beauty laden hours. 

You gathered for me then these leaves and flowers, 
And twined them thus, a tiny, wild bouquet. 

I kissed them, dreaming of the blissful hours 
That must be always May. 

And told you that I'd keep the gift you gave 
As long as T should love you ; and I thought, 
" They'll lay them on my breast when to the grave 
Its loves and dreams are brought." 

Only one little year, and see! to-day, 

Though earth is glad again in May's bright hours, 
My hand has crushed to dust, and flung away 

Your gift of faded flowers. 

And I have learned that May-time is a day 
That Summer's wooing lips will kiss to death. 

And I have learned that love's a tender lay 
Lost in its own sweet breath. 



CHANGED. 131 



CHANGED. 

And so you silently have dropped me out 

Of all your plans, and dreams, your hopes, your heart ; 

I once had all your life, my own about, 

— I now, have not one little part. 

Ah ! well ; goodbye, we'll go our ways ; and meet 
On that cold plane where friendship calmly stands — 
Nor ever feel that once our pulses beat 
To fever-tide, at just a clasp of hands, 

I do not blame you that your heart forgot 

To lay its crown forever at one shrine — 

It is the world's own way, and you are not 

To blame because the world's way was not mine. 

Goodbye, I say it ling'ring on the word — 
For pain is always aftermath of joy, 
And I had rather lose the gift that stirred 
My soul to life, than keep it till it cloy. 



132 TO BELLE. 



TO BELLE. 



I have folded them up, and put them away, 
Each dainty garment you used to wear, 
The Httle kid shoes with tasseled tops, 
And the long bright lock of your golden hair ; 
And the hot tears fell unchecked, untold, 
Over garment, and shoe, and tress of gold. 

The doll with blue eyes and " real hair," 

That you "named after Mamma," and used to pet- 

I hugged it close to my heart just now. 

And cried on its head till its curls were wet. 

And the little dishes — the china cups 
And saucers, and plates with gilded bands, 
You washed them last and piled them up here 
In this painted box with your dear, dear hands 
I very near dropped and broke them to-day 
When I gathered them up to put them away. 

There's the music-book Mith the lesson marked, 
Where your fingers weakened with slow disease, 
Ran over the notes, and tired, and failed, 
And fell from the task on the ivory keys. 



TO BELLE. 133 

And I found a letter among the things 
That were idly thrown on an idle stand, 
" My precious Mamma," the lines began 
Wrote in the scrawl of a childish hand. 

I little dreamed when I read it o'er, 
And carelessly laid it here away, 

That through blinding tears for your sweet dead face, 

1 would read the letter again to-day. 

Every place in this desolate house, 

From night to night, and from dawn to dawn. 

Wherever I go, wherever I look 

There is something to mind me that you are gone. 

So I folded them up and put them away 
Each dainty garment you used to wear, 
The little kid shoes with tasseled tops, 
And the long bright lock of your golden hair, 
And the hot tears fell unchecked, untold, 
Over garment, and shoe, and tress of gold. 

I folded them up and put them away, 
And locked them out of my sight forever ; 
And I have not spoken your name since then 
To keep from thinking ; O vain endeavor ! 
When has turning a key forgetfulness brought ? 
And who can limit the flight of a thought? 

I shut the door of my lonesome heart. 
And curtained it o'er with a heartless air. 



134 . TO BELLE. 

I laugh, and jest with the friends I meet 

And they — they think that I do not care, 
But I hear a voice that the grave has hid, . 
And I see a face through the coffin lid. 

Everywhere in the desolate world 

From night to night, and from dawn to dawn, 

Wherever I go, whatever I see 

There is. something to mind me that you are gone. 



GOLDEN ERA COMPANY'S 

^NEWIPUBLICATIONS.^ 



SHORT STORIES BY CALIFORNIA AUTHORS. 

Being Original Stories by Ella Sterling Cummins, Mary W. Glascock, H. B. 
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